


Running Wild and Running Free

by IoniaFletcher



Series: Renegades [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Canon Dialogue, Canon-Typical Violence, Deus Ex Hawke, Dom Fenris (Dragon Age), Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Gags, Hair-pulling, Hawke is an amazing stealth wingman, I'm the GRRM of Fenders fic, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking, Sub Anders (Dragon Age), Under-negotiated Kink, Wall Sex, and I'm sorry okay, fuck the chantry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IoniaFletcher/pseuds/IoniaFletcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders heals Fenris for the first time and it changes things between them forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fatal Blow

Fenris knew the second the blow hit. He’d been out of stamina, unable to block, only able to desperately twist himself in front of the sword that would have killed Isabela. The rogue disappeared in a flash of smoke to end their foe with two well placed daggers to the back, but the damage had been done.

As he slid to the ground, spilling his blood onto the sands of the Wounded Coast, he could hear his companions frantically reacting around him. He wrinkled his nose as the scent of elfroot overwhelmed him, healing potions being poured down his throat as he lost consciousness.

When he awoke he was curled in Hawke’s arms. Fenris was a proven warrior, but Hawke was one of the very few people who could make him feel delicate. The man was over six feet of pure muscle and he apparently had the strength to carry the elf from the Wounded Coast all the way back into Kirkwall.

“Anders! Damnit, where are you?” Hawke bellowed as he kicked open the door to the Darktown clinic.

“I’m here, I’m here, curse you and your blighted yelling, Hawke!” Anders appeared from the back room, still washing his hands from his last patient.

With one look at Fenris the mage whirled into action.

“Put him there,” he snapped at Hawke, stabbing his finger towards the big table in the middle of the room as he gathered bandages and poultices.

“Sodding elf,” Anders muttered under his breath, tearing bandages as if they had personally offended him.

“Keep the abomination away from me!” he mimicked in overly gravelly tones. “I need no help from the abomination! Stubborn bastard.”

Despite his words, the mage’s hands were gentle as he cut away Fenris’ armor to get at the large wound in his thigh. Anders hissed in a breath at the damage and he laid his hands over the gash to send waves of healing magic over Fenris’ skin. The elf moaned in pain as Anders focused on staunching the incessant bleeding.

Fenris knew vaguely that he should be pushing the abomination’s hands away from him, but he lacked the strength to struggle. He could feel the healing magic sinking into his skin, knitting ruined flesh back together. In the past he had never associated magic with anything but pain, but Anders' magic was gentle and pleasant.

When Fenris awoke several hours later, he instinctively tried to reach for his greatsword, scrabbling at nothing but air as he weakly staggered to his feet.

“Breathe, Fenris! It’s me, Anders. You’re in my clinic. You’re safe. Everything is okay.”

Fenris sucked in a breath and tried to get ahold of himself, fighting muscles that wanted to attack, feet that didn’t want to stay still. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the clinic and his body started to lose it's unnatural tension. Unfortunately, this also led to a wave of dizziness that nearly dropped him in his tracks.

In front of him Anders had his hands out as if he was calming a wild animal. _Well, he wouldn’t be wrong_ , Fenris thought bitterly. _The little wolf. The living weapon._

“I’m going to touch you now, Fenris, okay?” Anders murmured. “We’re just going to lay back down now, that’s it.”

The elf slowly let himself be settled back down onto the cot the mage normally slept on, agony flying through his limbs as Anders continued to talk.

“You were wounded on the Wounded Coast. Ha! It’s almost as if the name is appropriate or something,” Anders told him. “I don’t know why we let Hawke drag us out there all the time. We just get attacked and it’s always horrible. Slavers, Tal Vashoth, bandits, the list is endless and all we ever come back with is more torn trousers for Hawke’s sodding collection!”

“Cease your blathering, mage,” Fenris barked with much less strength than normal. Sometimes he wondered if it was physically impossible for the abomination to not talk. Other times he wondered if the mage kept up his incessant chatter purely to torture Fenris.

“Well, now I know you’re feeling better if you have the strength to insult me.” Anders said. “Fat lot of gratitude I get for saving your life. Next time I’ll just let you bleed out. You can meet the Maker and tell him all about the evils of magic.”

Wrapped in the comforting sound of the mage fussing over him, Fenris fell back into sleep.

In the morning, Fenris was roused by the rustle of the clinic in the next room. Next to the cot his sword had been propped up, within easy reach. Fenris reached for it and strapped it to his back, feeling much better as soon as it was back in place.

When he stood, he swayed a little with a brief bout of dizziness, but it soon passed. He padded into the main room of the clinic, which was already filled with several patients, some of the poorest of Darktown. Fenris had never understood why Anders would spend his days healing people for no coin, for no power at all. He often antagonized the mage by telling him he’d do well in Tevinter, but the truth was that Anders would be a kitten among wolves, doomed for his empathy.

His gaze was caught by Anders, who was kneeling next to a young elf girl sniffling into her mother’s dress.

“Now then, Lini, you’ve been very brave today. Listen to your mother and soon you’ll be feeling much better.” Anders smiled at the girl, who tentatively smiled back.

“Thank you, Serah Anders,” the elven woman said, relief in her eyes as she led her daughter away.

Anders straightened and turned, catching sight of Fenris standing in the doorway.

“Fenris!” Anders exclaimed, crossing the room with a purposeful stride. “You’re up! You should be sitting. I’ve set aside some food for you there.”

Fenris found himself being firmly guided to a small table with a large pitcher of water and a meal of bread and vegetable stew on it.

“Hawke will be by shortly with your armor. Orana is quite good at getting out blood stains, isn’t she? Lucky for us really, I’d hate to think about how many robes I’d go through if she wasn’t,” Anders chattered.

“Do you ever stop talking, mage?” Fenris snapped, flexing his hands involuntarily.

Anders laughed. “Why would I stop talking when it clearly annoys you so much? It’s just so delightful, to get your broody elf face to make that expression.”

Fenris growled.

“Now, now broody pants. You can growl at me AFTER you eat this stew, there’s a good elf. I’m not letting you leave until you’ve eaten it all,” Anders said, with no hint of fear.

“As if you could stop me,” said Fenris.

“Yes, yes, you big strong warrior you. Well, I shall just go flutter my delicate mage hands over here while you finish your food,” said Anders, pushing the stew closer to Fenris.

Fenris thought about simply leaving. But he was hungry, and the food smelled good. He relented, working his way steadily through the meal the mage had left him. While he ate, he studied Anders as the healer treated his patients. Fenris had always avoided the clinic, and Anders. This was the first time he had ever allowed the mage to heal him, and it set a dangerous precedent, one that he wasn’t comfortable with.

Still, there was no question that he would have died yesterday without the mage’s healing skill. Fenris had known it since the blow fell, that it was fatal. No amount of potions would have kept him alive through an injury like that. Only Anders.

He rose from his seat, swaying slightly before determinedly putting one foot in front of the other towards the door.

“Hey now, broody!” Anders said, moving to intercept him. “You shouldn’t be walking around. I want you to stay in the clinic where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Not a chance,” Fenris grunted.

Anders put both hands on his shoulders and looked at him very seriously.

“Fenris, I know that you don’t like it here. But you were very badly injured. You need to rest!”

“I will rest at home,” Fenris snapped, twitching his shoulders irritably and stepping past the mage.

“Blighted, stubborn, sodding elf,” said Anders. “Well, don’t come blaming me when you end up dead on the floor of that mansion of yours.” Throwing his hands in the air, he stomped away from Fenris.

“Mage.”

“Yes, Fenris?”

“Thank you.”

Fenris took great satisfaction in seeing those amber eyes widen, completely stunned. Then he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This is my first attempt at fic writing so... please be kind?


	2. Several Bent Lockpicks and a Dull Shiv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even begin to tell you all how much the Kudos and comments helped! I was very nervous about posting, and your lovely feedback made writing this next chapter so much easier! <3

Anders raised his hand to knock on Fenris’ door, then dropped it. He had almost knocked three times, and each time he had lost his nerve at the last second. He had never been to the Hightown mansion without Hawke in tow, and he was honestly nervous that Fenris might tear out his heart for daring to come alone and unannounced.

Anders was still shocked that Fenris had thanked him. As far as he knew, it was the first time Fenris had said anything to him that couldn’t be considered a threat or an insult. Even his grunting noises were clearly aggressive.

Hearing the elf’s sinful voice say something nice to him… well it had thrown off his equilibrium. Badly. He had long accepted that Fenris hated him, and nothing he ever said made a dent in the elven warrior’s opinion on mages. Anders had sometimes spent whole nights awake in his clinic, running through arguments in his head, trying to find the reasoning that would make everything right. As if he could find the exact combination of words that would unlock Fenris and get him to see all that he and Justice were fighting for. It never worked. Lately Fenris wouldn’t even acknowledge his explanations, not bothering to disagree or even growl in disgust.

_“Thank you.”_

Anders shivered and then before he could overthink it again, firmly knocked. No matter his feelings for Fenris, or rather, no matter the elf’s feelings towards _him_ , Fenris had been badly injured. Anders owed it to him to check in. Besides, his arms were starting to get tired from holding the bag of food he had brought with him to make sure the obstinate elf ate something.

By the time Fenris finally opened the door, Anders had firmly pasted a nonchalant smile on his face.

“Fenris! How are you feeling? Dizziness? Have you been resting?” Anders pushed by Fenris, not allowing the warrior a chance to refuse him entry.

“You know, at some point maybe get rid of the corpses in the foyer. I’m just saying.” Anders turned to face the glowering elf, who was shifting from foot to foot. “I mean, it makes a statement, definitely. If the statement is, you know, death.”

“Mage!” Fenris barked. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I don’t know if you remember, but you almost died yesterday. I would be a very bad healer indeed if I didn’t make sure you were taking care of yourself. Plus, Hawke would probably be annoyed if I let you die. Have you eaten? Please tell me you’ve eaten something.”

Fenris shrugged. Fenris had eloquent shrugs. They mostly conveyed “fuck you” and “stop talking” and “leave quickly before I murder you”. The whole look was set off quite nicely by the black armor covered in spikes.

“I knew it! You’ve been holed up in this Makerforsaken place all afternoon not taking care of yourself! You know wine doesn’t count as food, right?”

Another shrug.

Anders sighed and began massaging the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know why he even bothered.

“Well, can we at least leave the foyer? The smell… well. Let’s just say the smell is not inviting.”

Fenris jerked his head in what could loosely be interpreted as an acquiescent gesture and began climbing the stairs.

Anders took that to mean he wasn’t in imminent danger of murder, and followed.

“So I see Hawke managed to bring you your armor, then? If you had stayed at the clinic like you were supposed to, he wouldn’t have had to make the trip all the way out here,” groused Anders.

“You mean five minutes away from his front door?” Fenris said, raising an eyebrow as he led the way into a sitting room that was marginally cleaner than the foyer covered in dead bodies.

“Yeah, well. Still. He could’ve avoided a trip to my clinic!” Anders huffed.

“Something I wish I had managed,” Fenris said sardonically, relaxing into the chair nearest the fire.

“Ungrateful bloody elf.”

“I did say thank you, did I not?” growled Fenris.

Anders paused. He had nothing to say to that. The air grew thick with an odd tension and Anders suddenly found it difficult to meet those big green eyes.

“Yes, well,” he said awkwardly. “Let me take a quick look at your leg and I’ll get out of your way.”

He had never been more aware of Fenris’ glare as he settled himself on his knees to reach out a hand to the elf’s thigh.

“Mage!” Fenris snapped, batting away his hands.

“Oh for… How do you expect me to look at your leg if you won’t let me touch you? I’ve seen plenty of people in their smalls, don’t be such a baby.” Anders forced himself to meet the elf’s gaze steadily.

Fenris’ jaw was clenched and he looked furious. Then he stood and slowly lowered his hands to his leggings.

Anders was suddenly forcibly reminded that he was kneeling at Fenris’ feet, looking up at him. His cheeks flushed, but he couldn’t look away as Fenris maneuvered his injured leg out of his leggings and sat back in his chair.

“Right then,” Anders said, trying to keep his tone matter of fact.

He focused on his work. _Just ignore the beautiful elf,_ he scolded himself while taking a deep breath.

“Well, no infection, thank the Maker. It looks like it’s healed quite nicely actually,” he said, searching with his magic to see if there was anything he had missed the day before. He tried to avoid the lyrium lines that wound their way over Fenris’ body but accidentally brushed one.

Fenris jerked, making a sharp noise just as Justice awakened slightly in the corner of Anders’ mind. **The fade. It sings.**

“I’m so sorry! Did that hurt?” said Anders with concern. _Not now, Justice!_ The spirit dwindled back into dormancy.

“No,” Fenris bit off, looking anywhere but the mage, ears twitching.

“Right,” said Anders reaching out again.

Fenris knocked his chair backward as he threw himself away from the mage, turning and angrily pulling his leggings back on.

Stunned, Anders could only offer a weak, “Fenris?”

“I don’t need any more help, abomination,” Fenris snapped. “Leave, before I make you!”

“O-okay,” stammered Anders, completely at a loss. His heart had given it’s familiar pang of hurt when Fenris called him an abomination. But the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Fenris, and he’d already determined that the wound was completely healed.

He stood shakily.

“I’ll just leave this here, okay?” Anders said, gesturing to the bag he’d brought and trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. “It’s not much, but I thought it might help. I’ll-I’ll see you later.”

Fenris didn’t so much as look at him, his back to Anders and his body drawn tight.

Anders practically flew through the mansion and out the front door, where he leaned heavily on the outside wall and took great gulping breaths of the evening air.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong. The blighted elf was so prickly, Anders never knew what would set him off.

Shaking his head, Anders started the long walk back to Darktown, lost in his thoughts.

As he passed the Hawke estate, he hesitated, then veered. He could definitely use a talk with someone who didn’t despise him.

Before he even started knocking he could hear Hawke’s giant mabari barking eagerly. By the time Bodahn came to greet him, Anders had almost turned around to leave, already regretting the sudden impulse that had led him to Hawke’s door.

“Good evening, Messere Anders!” Bodahn said welcomingly. “Messere Hawke is organizing his collection, but I’m sure he’d be right pleased to see you!”

“Collection?” Anders said weakly, already fearing the worst.

“Right this way, Messere,” Bodahn said, leading Anders through to Hawke’s living room. The rogue was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, several large chests surrounding him. Dog rushed to great Anders, covered with drool as per usual.

“Down, you big lump,” Anders said wearily, pushing the mabari away.

“Anders!” said Hawke. “So nice to have my favorite healer come and visit me!”

“I’m your _only_ healer, Hawke,” Anders said, grinning despite himself. Hawke always cheered him up. He’d never met anyone with a more irrepressible spirit.

“Details,” scoffed Hawke. “Come, join me. I’m organizing.”

Anders hesitated, then joined Hawke on the floor.

“And what are we organizing?” he asked, looking around at what appeared to be chests full of junk.

“Well, this chest is for moth-eaten scarves,” Hawke gestured. “And I’m starting a new chest for moldy rag dolls.”

“Hawke, you can hardly think this junk is worth collecting,” Anders protested. “It all belongs in the waste heap!”

“Nonsense,” Hawke said, lovingly folding a tattered scarf and tucking it into a chest filled with similar scarves, all torn and moldering. “You never know when something is going to be useful.”

Anders opened his mouth to argue, and then snapped it shut. He was suddenly reminded that Hawke had lived through having everything he owned stripped away during the Blight. He had come to Kirkwall with nothing. Who was he to judge Hawke’s coping mechanism? Especially since his way of dealing was apparently to throw himself at an elf who hated his guts and might actually kill him someday.

“Alright, Hawke,” he sighed, pulling a box of junk towards him and beginning to go through it. “Where should the rusty metal spoon go?”

“Right here in the box of metals,” Hawke said enthusiastically, taking the spoon from Anders and putting it in the chest, where it joined several bent lockpicks and a dull shiv.

They sorted companionably by the fire in silence until Hawke said gently, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Anders with a melancholy sigh that even he had to admit was less than convincing.

“Hmm,” said Hawke. “Might “nothing” be another word for a pretty elf covered in lyrium?”

Anders jerked his head up in surprise. “What?"

Hawke just tilted his head and looked at him knowingly.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, I’m not that obvious, am I?” said Anders.

“Come on Anders, give me some credit. I know it’s hard to believe a man this blessed with charm and beauty is also smart, but I do have a fair amount of observational skills,” laughed Hawke. “You spend more time trying to get Fenris to support mage rights than anyone else. Why would you work that hard to persuade him unless you cared about what he thought?”

Anders worried his lip between his teeth.

“He’s just so sodding stubborn,” he finally burst out. “I keep thinking I can get through to him, but no matter what I say he just won’t _listen!”_

Hawke hummed and looked thoughtful. “Have you considered that the reason he’s fighting you so hard is because you keep pushing?”

“But… How else am I supposed to convince him?” Anders asked hopelessly.

“Start by respecting his opinion. Stop trying to browbeat him into agreeing with you and just show him,” said Hawke. “Be an example that he can’t ignore, a mage who can control himself and use his power for the greater good.”

Anders considered this.

“That’s… good advice, actually,” he said.

"Helping people and killing people are what I'm best at," Hawke said cheerfully. “Now, why don’t you spend the night? It’s not safe to walk to Darktown this late.”

“I think I will,” Anders said. “Ooohh, do you think Orana will bring me breakfast in bed?”

“Only if you have Dog in there with you!” Hawke snickered, causing the mabari to wag his tail wildly.

“Ugh, nothing is worth that,” said Anders, standing to head towards the guest room. At least he would get a decent night’s sleep for once.

Hours later, Anders was still tossing and turning, unable to banish the sight of furious green eyes.


	3. A Pair of Knights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all of the comments everyone! They are so encouraging! Also, just as a head's up, I've never played the Exiled Prince DLC so I've never had Sebastian as a companion. I feel like I have a decent sense of him from fandom, but I'm not comfortable trying to write him with no first hand experience. So, sorry Sebastian fans, the Exiled Prince will be staying in exile. :/

Fenris glared at his hand of cards and wondered how long he had to stay before he could slip away. He’d considered not coming at all, but no one missed Wicked Grace night. If there was any rule among this band of misfits it was that no matter what, they all showed up for weekly Wicked Grace. Fenris was pretty sure the only excuse Hawke would accept for missing it was death.

He could hear the abomination laughing with Isabela and it made him cringe inwardly. He’d spent most of the night after Anders left drinking wine and breaking the bottles all over the mansion.

Anders had looked perfect on his knees. He had looked like he belonged at Fenris’ feet, gazing up at him with those kind brown eyes. Fenris had wanted to tangle his hand in that messy blonde hair and jerk the mage’s head back to expose his throat. He had wanted to slide his cock down that throat in one perfect thrust and fuck the mage’s face until his eyes teared up and he couldn’t stop drooling.

Fenris growled and tossed two cards back.

“Broody, you are looking extra brooding tonight,” Varric said, dealing him out two replacement cards.

“Such a shame,” sighed Isabela. “That taut, controlled body, intense demeanor and smoldering gaze… if only we could get him to lighten up a little and have some _fun_!”

“Your kind of fun ends with you in Darktown asking the abomination to cure your itching,” Fenris shot back. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Anders flinch.

“True,” said Isabela. “But at least the times before then are _delicious._ Why I met a sailor last week with the biggest…”

“Shut it, whore.” said Aveline. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

“Hands! Almost as big as yours, Lady Man Hands,” finished Isabela with a smirk.

“Now, now, children. Let’s all behave ourselves,” Hawke said, throwing his arm around Aveline and squeezing her into his side.

“Get off me, Hawke,” protested Aveline.

Fenris tried to ignore the bickering and concentrate on his blasted hand. The sooner the game was over, the sooner he could escape back to the mansion for some peace and quiet with some much needed space from the mage.

He glanced over at Anders, who had been uncharacteristically subdued all evening. The mage was looking intently at his cards and seemed unaware of the banter happening around him. Fenris’ eyes went to the mage’s hands involuntarily, remembering what it had felt like to have those hands on him.

When Anders had touched his lyrium it had sent a white hot bolt of pleasure through the elf’s entire body. It had been unbearable. If the mage had touched him again, Fenris would’ve taken him right then and there, on the floor in front of the fire.

“Oh dear,” said the witch. “Is a pair of knights good or bad? I can never remember.”

“You’re not supposed to tell us what your hand is, kitten,” said Isabela, gently tugging the cards from Merrill’s hands and dealing her a new set of cards. “From now on, just whisper it in my ear and I’ll take care of you.”

“Will you really?” chirped Merrill. “You’re always so kind, Isabela.”

“Yes, I really am, aren’t I?” Isabela smirked.

Aveline snorted, but let the remark pass. “I fold,” she said, grumpily. “I’m never going to win a game around you lot.”

“So, Varric,” said Hawke. “What’s your new story about?”

“Now, now, Hawke. A tradesman never reveals his secrets,” Varric said, raking in the pot he’d just won. “You’ll have to buy it along with everyone else.”

“Well, I think it should be a love story,” said Hawke. “Something really romantic, like enemies who slowly fall in love and realize they were perfect for each other all along.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be sweet!” cooed Merrill. “I like stories like that.”

“As long as there is a lot of hate sex,” said Isabela. “A love story is all well and good, but I always skip to the naughty bits anyway.”

Fenris found his gaze sliding towards the mage yet again. Anders was staring sullenly at his new hand.

“What kind of enemies were you thinking, Hawke?” continued Isabela. “Naughty mage and mean templar? Qunari mercenary and Tevinter magister? Ooh, that’d be pretty sexy, actually.”

“I don’t think it matters, really.” said Hawke, throwing a few coins into the pot and stretching nonchalantly. “Just as long as the two lovers realize that common ground can be found with just a little bit of compromise.”

The elf wondered what was bothering Anders. He wondered why he cared.

“I didn’t know you were such a softie,” exclaimed Isabela. “Apparently beneath that roguish exterior beats a romantic heart.”

Hawke threw the pirate his trademark grin. “Plus, the sex would be hot, right?”

“Now you’re singing my song, sweet thing,” laughed Isabela.

“Blondie, you’ve been unusually quiet tonight,” said Varric. “Nothing to say about a love story between a big bad Templar and a naughty mage?”

“Sorry Varric,” Anders sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t sleep well. Plus, I know all too well what happens to ‘naughty mages’ in The Circle and it isn’t sexy.”

“Spare us your mage rights speech, abomination,” Fenris scoffed, rolling his eyes. This time he was looking right at Anders and saw the small but perceptible flinch at the word ‘abomination’. Did being called an abomination actually hurt the mage? Fenris would never have thought so, usually the mage gave as good as he got and insults seemed to bounce right off him.

“Okay,” Anders said calmly. “I call.”

The sudden silence made him look up, where everybody was staring at him in bemusement.

“What? I don’t always have to talk about mage rights,” Anders said defensively.

“Blondie, I’m pretty sure I’ve never had a conversation with you that wasn’t about mage rights.” Varric said. After a beat he added, “Or cats.”

Anders subsided into grumbling, staring at his hand and refusing to look at anyone else. His cheeks had pinked with embarrassment. Fenris wondered if the rest of the mage’s skin would blush that beautifully, then cursed himself for the thought.

He didn’t know how to treat the mage anymore. Gone was their comfortable arguing, knowing exactly where he stood. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the mage underneath him, that pale skin flushed as Fenris coaxed moan after moan from those lips.

The fact that Fenris was fantasizing about using the mage sexually was bad enough on it’s own. Worse was this morning when a hungover Fenris had opened the bagful of food the mage had brought him and found it filled with apples. Not just any apples but the pale Ferelden honey apples that Fenris loved so much. You could only get them at a particular Hightown market and they were expensive and rare. He vaguely remembered mentioning them to Hawke once, _months_ ago. He hadn’t even known Anders had been listening, much less that he’d remember.

“FENRIS!” a chorus of voices snapped him back to reality.

“It’s your turn,” Hawke said, looking amused.

“Oh,” said Fenris, frantically sorting through his cards. Had he already discarded? He couldn’t remember. “I fold.” he said, giving up the hand as a bad loss.

“Honestly, the pair of you could at least pretend to be paying attention,” Isabela pouted. “It’s no fun winning all your money like this.”

Anders stood abruptly. “I should be getting back to the clinic,” he said.

“Well, I didn’t mean _leave_ ,” said Isabela, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no, I just…” Anders rain his hand through his hair, making it even messier than usual. “I should go.”

“Well, you can’t walk back to Darktown this late,” said Hawke. “You’ll be murdered for your boots half a block from here. Fenris, can you take him back?”

Fenris snapped his gaze to Hawke suspiciously, but the rogue seemed sincere enough. He had actually walked Anders back to his clinic on more than one occasion. Hawke didn’t like the mages to be alone after dark.

“As you wish, Hawke,” Fenris said, rising to his feet and strapping his greatsword on.

They walked back to Darktown in silence. By the time they made it to the clinic’s front door, Fenris was fairly vibrating with the tension.

“Thank you.”

Fenris looked at the mage for the first time since they had left The Hanged Man.

“I appreciate you walking all the way down here,” Anders said, not meeting his eyes.

“It was no hardship, mage.” Fenris said.

“R-right. Well, I still…”

Fenris pushed him into the wall and was on him, growling, before the mage could even finish his sentence. The elf finally, _finally_ had a fistful of that hair and he tilted the mage’s head so he could bite his neck, nibbling along his shoulder and delighting in the gasps Anders was making while pressed up against him.

He nipped at an ear and was rewarded with a buck from the mage’s hips, pressed so closely to his own. Fenris slid his thigh in between Anders’ legs and pulled the mage onto him, rocking his leg against the erection he could feel growing beneath the mage’s robes.

Fenris basked at the sight of Anders, trembling and completely wanton, pushed against a wall and wrapped around his thigh. He reached out and placed his hand around the mage’s throat, holding him still. He could feel Anders’ pulse beneath his fingers, beating frantically like a trapped bird. He ran his thumb over the mage’s lips, humming appreciatively when they parted for him.

Fenris took that mouth, gently at first, sipping at the sweet taste before the kiss turned rough and passionate.

He liked the way the mage felt in his arms, pliant and welcoming, and the way he allowed Fenris to plunder his mouth, making heated noises of want that went straight to the elf’s cock. He wanted nothing more than to carry Anders into his clinic, bend him over the desk where he spent all his time writing that ridiculous manifesto, and fuck him in long hard strokes until they both broke.

Something that felt much like panic broke through Fenris’ desire filled thoughts and he pulled away from the mage with a gasp. Anders struggled to keep his balance without the elf to hold him up, leaning against the wall and panting with need.

“Fenris?” Anders said, voice hoarse with desire.

“I-I can’t,” said Fenris before turning and running like a coward.


	4. The Taste of Honey Apples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a very different chapter... then fluff happened? And by the way, cliches are cliche FOR A REASON.

Anders snuck another glance at Fenris, who was leaning on his greatsword and recovering from the fight they had just won. He quietly cast a rejuvenation spell, and watched as Fenris tipped his head back in pleasure before turning to look unerringly into Anders’ eyes. The few yards between them melted away and became heated before the elf looked away.

Ahead of them Hawke was chuckling madly and searching through the pockets of the dead slavers, no doubt to add to his ever growing collection of junk. Varric stood next to him, watching affectionately with Bianca casually swung over his shoulder.

“You might want to check for hidden pockets, Hawke,” joked the dwarf. “I’d hate to see you miss out on another pair of soft flannel pantaloons or a stuffed parrot.”

They were out on another one of Hawke’s mad expeditions to the Wounded Coast. It was one of Anders’ least favorite places in the world, and he’d grown up in the unforgiving Anderfels. Between the scrubby brush and the way bands of roving criminals were always popping up out of nowhere it really could not be more unpleasant.

Usually Anders did everything he could to get out of these trips, but this time he had jumped at the chance. Hawke had shown up in his clinic with Varric and Fenris in tow and Anders had said yes almost before Hawke asked.

Fenris had been ignoring him for weeks. At first he was just hiding out in the mansion, and no one saw him. Then Hawke dragged him down to Wicked Grace night, where he had barely said two words and hadn’t looked at Anders once.

Even the old Fenris, caustic and aggressive, had been preferable to this silent shadow. Anders had hoped that forced proximity would get Fenris to do something, _anything_ to end this stalemate between them.

Hawke finally finished looting to his satisfaction and bounced up to Anders. “Well, let’s make camp,” he said enthusiastically.

“Preferably away from the corpses,” Varric added, wrinkling his nose.

“I don’t know,” Hawke mused. “They might make Fenris feel more at home.”

The elf gave the half-smile that only Hawke ever seemed to earn.

They walked further up the coast until Hawke found a spot he liked, with a cavern at their backs and the waterline spread out in front of them.

The group made camp, well-practiced and efficient. The two tents were set up next to a merrily crackling fire.

“This is, beyond a doubt, the most wretched place I've ever been. The sooner we get back to Kirkwall, the better,” said Varric.

“Oh now, it’s not so bad,” said Hawke. “Always plenty to do!”

“Only you would classify having to kill huge groups of enemies as ‘plenty to do’, Hawke,” Anders said sourly.

“Then why did you want to come, hmm?” Hawke said slyly, watching Anders’ face.

“Uhhhh,” said Anders, trying to not to look at Fenris.

“Eloquent!” Hawke said, chuckling.

As they watched the last rays of sun slide beneath the horizon, Hawke stretched and gave a big yawn.

“Fenris, first watch, yeah?” the rogue said.

Fenris nodded his assent.

“I only think we need two tonight,” Hawke said with another yawn. “Wake me in a couple hours and then we’ll be off at first light.”

Hawke and Varric strolled off to their tent, speaking quietly to each other, leaving Anders sitting awkwardly next to the fire. He tried in vain to catch Fenris’ gaze but the elf immediately left for his watch. Anders could see him silhouetted against the dusky half light, looking out over the water.

Anders sighed. Clearly Fenris was determined to ignore him, so he might as well get some sleep. He crawled into their tent and tried to get comfortable, punching at his bedroll in frustration. It would all be so much easier if he could just forget the kiss. If you could call it a kiss. It was more of a _revelation._

Every time he closed his eyes all he could think about was being held against Fenris’ lean body, stars behind his eyes from being kissed so thoroughly he had forgotten how to stand. 

And then the warrior just disappeared. With no explanation. It was unbearable.

 **“The elf distracts from our mission. We have more important tasks,”** Justice boomed in his mind. Then, **“Next time try and lick him. He sings of home.”**

Andraste's tits! Even the fade spirit was confused by that blighted elf. And the way things were shaping up, there wouldn’t _be_ a next time.

By the time Fenris came to their tent several hours later, Anders had barely slept ten minutes, his eyes sandy with exhaustion and his mood abysmal.

He listened to the elf settling in, frustration mounting.

Finally he sat up.

“What is your problem?” Anders demanded. “You can’t ignore me forever, you know. We’re going to see each other, it’s unavoidable. I can’t live like this, with you skulking around me like a sodding ghost.”

He could see Fenris flinch in the dimness of the tent, but he said nothing.

“Look, I know you hate me,” Anders said grimly, “But, that’s no excuse -”

“I don’t hate you, mage.” Fenris said, so quietly Anders almost missed it. Anders closed his mouth with a snap.

Fenris sighed. “I don’t hate you. But this is - this isn’t easy for me. I’ve never -,” Fenris faltered. “This is new to me. I just - needed some space.”

Anders didn’t quite know what to say to that, feeling a bit abashed about his outburst.

He slowly laid back down, suddenly completely drained.

They lay in silence, Anders listening to the soothing sound of Fenris breathing as his muscles slowly relaxed. Fenris finally murmured, “Go to sleep, mage,” and he drifted away.

Anders woke as dawn streaked into the tent, soft orange light against his eyelids. He gradually realized that Fenris was curled against his back, arms wrapped around him and his face buried in the mage’s neck. The elf was breathing deeply, clearly still asleep.

Anders squeezed his eyes closed and just basked for a moment, surrounded by warmth and the smell of steel and leather and lyrium. Finally, unable to resist, he carefully turned over, staying in the circle of Fenris’ arms until he was facing the elf.

Asleep, Fenris didn’t look like a fierce warrior. He looked peaceful, delicate features relaxed and open. Anders reached out and laid a hand gently on his cheek. Fenris’ eyes snapped open, and his body tensed.

“Shhhhh,” Anders whispered, sliding his fingers against the elf’s soft skin.

Blinking, Fenris sighed and relaxed into Anders’ hand. Anders couldn’t look away from Fenris’ eyes, big pools of green that he had never seen so soft.

He tipped his head up, giving Fenris a chance to pull back before their lips met. With a small groan, Fenris opened his mouth to him. Anders sank into the embrace, sliding his hands into silky white hair, glorying in the feel of Fenris against him.

Fenris shifted them, settling the mage firmly beneath him and kissing him hot and deep. Anders felt like he was slowly catching fire, shuddering as Fenris ravished his mouth. He couldn't help the low noises that tumbled from his lips as he arched under the elf, pressing their bodies together with a heated slide. The taste of honey apples overwhelmed him, and he _hungered_ , the golden sweetness of Fenris' mouth on his causing his body to tighten almost painfully. 

Little by little, he became aware of Hawke and Varric cheerfully chatting as they broke camp outside the tent. Fenris obviously heard them too, and his kisses gradually softened until they were just lying there, breath mingling as Fenris dropped his forehead against Anders' and closed his eyes.

“I can’t resist you,” Fenris said, his low voice husky from sleep and passion. “I tried. I-I can’t.”

Anders said nothing, his fingers gently carding through Fenris’ hair.

“Come to me,” Fenris said, finally meeting Anders’ gaze again. “Tonight, when we’re back in Kirkwall. Come to me.”

Anders swallowed nervously, and nodded.


	5. A Picture of Perfect Submission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself... smut is coming. We finally start earning our tags! Reminder that the kink is way under-negotiated which is bad BDSM practice. This is fairly light - but it's worth noting!

Fenris paced. He’d been pacing for what felt like hours in his newly clean foyer. Varric had been unbearable when Fenris asked for his help removing the bodies, but at least the entrance of the mansion was no longer strewn with moldering remains.

 _Tonight?_ he scolded himself. _What did tonight even mean? Dusk? Midnight? Fool._ Why hadn’t he been clearer? The mage could arrive at any time. If he arrived at all.

Growling, he turned and punched a wall. Now his hand hurt, but he felt better. The mage had been disturbing his thoughts for weeks. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d brought himself to completion picturing a fistful of blonde hair and honeyed eyes.

Fenris started up his pacing again.

The mage was infuriating. He’d always been infuriating. Fenris was unsure when he had stopped cursing him and started hungering for him instead. He'd fought alongside Anders for years and had hated every moment, yet now whenever he saw the mage he wanted... He _wanted_. The change in his feelings was unnerving, and he didn't know how to handle it. He'd developed an awareness of the mage that was startling in it's intensity. He tracked every husky laugh, every teasing comment made in that lilting Fereldan voice. He ached to feel those long, graceful fingers soothing his body. 

He’d sat across from Anders at Wicked Grace night so hard that his erection was actually painful. It had been a test of all of his self-control to not lunge across the table and drag the mage out of Varric's suite by his robes and fuck him roughly in one of the empty rooms.

Fenris didn’t like wanting. Wanting just reminded him of a time when he’d had nothing, and that he could someday have nothing again.

He groaned and dropped his head in his hands. Having Anders beneath him on the Wounded Coast had been torture, he’d almost claimed him then. But he didn’t want his first time with the mage to be on the hard ground, Varric and Hawke just yards away.

No, he wanted his mage to scream for him. He wanted to fuck him so completely Anders would never be the same, and hear him plead for more.

The foyer was the width of exactly ten of Fenris’ long strides, but it seemed endless.

When the knock at the door finally came, Fenris hurled himself at the entrance and opened it, enjoying the way Anders’ mouth fell open in shock.

He snaked out an arm and hooked the mage around his waist, pulling him inside with one fluid movement. Slamming the door, he pushed Anders back against it, pulling him up to wrap the mage's legs around him.

The mage smelled delicious, like elfroot and magic, and Fenris took advantage of his squeak of surprise to press deep kisses to that lush mouth, ravaging it with hot slides of his tongue.

He turned and started towards the bedroom, Anders making delightful noises in his arms.

“Fenris!” Anders moaned, between kisses. “We - we should talk about this!”

“No talking,” Fenris rumbled.

“But - but what are we - ,” Anders started.

Fenris lit his tattoos and smiled at how quickly the mage went limp against him.

“Oh, oh -,” moaned Anders, trying to get as close as possible to all that lyrium, bucking his body against Fenris in desperation.

Fenris buried his face where the mage’s shoulder met his neck and bit it. His teeth scraped along Anders’ collarbone leaving small marks as he nibbled.

When they finally reached his bedroom, Fenris took a few moments properly kiss the mage, eventually gentling his mouth and just breathing him in. He dimmed his tattoos. He wanted Anders to come when he was buried inside him, not just rubbing against the lyrium embedded in his skin.

Then he leaned down and settled Anders on his bed. The apostate looked beautiful, gazing up at Fenris with dazed eyes. The elf firmly gripped the mage’s chin and tilted his face up to him.

“You will do as I say,” Fenris said, looking deeply into Anders’ eyes.

Anders licked his lips, looking remarkably aroused but also a little uncertain.

“Do you understand?” asked Fenris.

Anders closed his eyes. When he opened them the indecision was gone, leaving behind nothing but eagerness.

“Yes, Fenris,” he said.

“Mmm. Very good, mage,” Fenris breathed. “I like that.”

At his words Anders let out a needy whine. Fenris’ lips quirked. So his mage liked pleasing him, then. Good.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, straightening.

Anders settled himself on his knees and started undoing buckles eagerly.

“No,” Fenris said silkily. “Slowly, mage.”

Anders swallowed hard and began to unveil himself more deliberately, with graceful movements. Fenris watched with hot eyes as the mage’s body was revealed to him bit by bit, long lean muscles, miles of pale, freckled skin dusted in golden hair.

As Anders laid his hands on his smalls, Fenris held up a hand.

“Stop,” he said softly.

Fenris moved forward and bent over the man trembling on his bed. He stroked a thumb over one expressive cheekbone, then tangled his hand in the mage’s hair gently, angling him back. Putting his mouth to Anders’ ear he murmured, “Those smalls will be dripping before I slide them off you. I will make you beg for it, mage.” Satisfied by the hitch in Anders’ breathing, he nipped at his ear and tugged him forward off the bed.

“On your knees,” Fenris commanded, watching as Anders smoothly slid to the ground at his feet. “Mmm. Open your mouth, and keep it open. If it closes, I will be displeased.”

Fenris gloried in the sight of the mage before him, eyes glazed, mouth open, a picture of perfect submission. He had dreamed of this moment for weeks but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality. He undid his leggings and pulled out his aching cock, hungry for the feel of the mage’s throat.

He dipped the leaking head of his cock between the mage’s lips, still swollen from Fenris’ fierce kisses, and slid just the tip in before withdrawing. Anders swallowed reflexively and closed his mouth. Fenris corrected him with a sharp yank of his hair.

“Open,” he growled.

Anders yelped but immediately opened his mouth. This time Fenris took it with one hard stroke, driving his cock down the mage’s throat mercilessly. His eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a loud groan at the feel of the mage’s hot, wet throat constricting his cock. He could feel the mage gagging around him and pulled out to give him a moment to adjust and breathe. Anders coughed but stubbornly kept his mouth open, drool beginning to run down his chin.

“Perfect,” Fenris said, causing the mage to shudder. He slid his cock back into that lovely mouth, fucking it with long, steady thrusts. His balls slammed against a split-slick chin, making lewd slapping noises punctuated by the mage’s moan of satisfaction on every forward thrust.

“Look at me,” he ordered. Dreamy amber eyes met his own, lids half-closed, pupils blown wide with lust, mouth stretched obscenely around his cock.

“Venhedis, you love this,” Fenris said. “You were made for this, mage. Designed to please me.”

Anders hummed in assent, causing Fenris’ balls to tighten dangerously. He pulled out of the mage’s mouth with an audible pop.

“On the bed. On your back,” Fenris said, voice strained.

Anders scrambled to obey, settling himself back on the bed and looking at Fenris with wide intent eyes.

Fenris tugged his tunic up over his head, throwing it to the side. His leggings quickly followed leaving him naked as he advanced on Anders. He took in the shock in the mage’s eyes and flinched.

“I know the tattoos are - ” he started.

“Maker, Fenris you are magnificent,” breathed Anders, awe in his voice.

“What?”

Anders had moved closer to him, hands gently pulling him in. He stroked his palms along Fenris’ chest, along the lyrium that twined its way over the elf’s flesh.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, leaning forward and licking a line up Fenris’ ribcage, tracing the silvery lines with his tongue.

Fenris was stunned. He was a broken creature. His whole body was disfigured. How could Anders possibly find him appealing?

Everywhere the mage caressed him, the lyrium sparked with white-hot pleasure. Fenris couldn’t explain it. His body ached ceaselessly, and every person who had ever touched him had caused pain. How was it that the mage could cause such enjoyable sensations with the brush of his fingers?

He tangled his fingers in the mage’s hair and shuddered as Anders worshipped his body with his mouth. 

Finally, unable to bear it, he surged forward and pinned the mage beneath him. He kissed along that stubbled jawline, feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath his lips as he dipped a tongue in the hollow of Anders’ throat. Anders keened and rubbed his whole body against Fenris, unable to keep his hips from jerking in a helpless rhythm as he wrapped long legs around Fenris’ waist.

“Mmm, you squirm so deliciously mage,” Fenris said, sliding his hand down and hooking a finger into Anders’ smalls. 

“Should I take these off?” he asked.

“Yes, yes - please,” Anders begged desperately.

Fenris rocked back and looked down at the debauched man trapped underneath him. Anders’ hair was a messy halo around his head, eyes wild and body flushed. His erection was straining against his smalls, precome making the thin fabric almost sheer.

He palmed that hard cock, swirled his thumb over the very tip and squeezed, causing the mage to buck violently and cry out. He loved having the mage at his mercy, sweet like honey and breaking under his touch. He peeled Anders out of his soaked smalls and spread his thighs, holding him open firmly. The mage’s cock was red and desperate, leaking against his belly.

Fenris was quickly losing control. He needed to claim the mage, fuck him deep, feel him around his cock.

“Hold yourself open,” he snarled. Anders reached shaking hands down and hooked his elbows under his knees, keeping himself splayed. Fenris hissed out a breath at the sight, then padded across the room to collect elfroot potion.

He returned to where Anders was panting on the bed, fitting himself between the mage’s outstretched legs. He poured a generous amount of slick into his palm and coated his fingers with it. 

Fenris slid a finger into the tight heat of Anders’ ass, watching as the mage threw his head back and moaned, whole body trembling. The elf added another finger, loosening him with every stroke. He crooked his fingers and Anders let out a long keening wail. 

He took his time readying the mage for his cock, enjoying every whimper of the man falling apart with every slide of his fingers. When Anders was shuddering and incoherent, he slid up the mage’s body until they were skin to skin, carefully fitting his cock against Anders’ taut entrance.

“Look at me, mage,” Fenris ordered. Anders met his gaze, eyes heavy and unfocused.

Fenris kept his eyes locked on Anders as he slowly penetrated him, inch by ruthless inch. Anders whimpered.

“Please Fenris, - unh - please I need - ” 

The mage’s ass was exquisite, tight beyond reckoning, and Fenris gritted his teeth against the temptation of taking it all at once. He wanted to feel every inch, feel the mage stretching as Fenris claimed him.

When he was fully seated, he looked into Anders’ amber eyes.

“What do you need, mage?”

“Please, please -,” Anders begged, voice broken and hungry. “I need - you - please fuck me, harder - ” 

Fenris withdrew, then snapped forward with such force Anders was driven across the bed, fucking into him so hard there was a satisfying smack of flesh before his mage wailed.

“Like that?”

“More - please - more - faster, I c-can’t - please, Fenris - ”

Fenris relented and started pounding the mage with long smooth thrusts, a heated glide that had his whole body tightening. Anders was making the most perfect noises beneath him and each ragged sob sent sparks of pleasure up Fenris’ spine.

“ _Mine_ ,” Fenris growled, wrapping his fingers around Anders’ neck and leaning back. He had never seen anything so beautiful, the mage crying out for him, his pale skin flushed and covered with small bruises where Fenris had marked him, filled with his cock. 

Fenris bared his teeth in a feral smile as his tight little mage screamed his name on every punishing stroke. He wasn’t going to last much longer, but he needed to feel Anders come around him.

“You take this so perfectly, mage,” Fenris moaned. He reached down a hand and wrapped his fingers around Anders’ throbbing cock. The mage jerked and wailed with every snap of Fenris’ wrist.

“Fenris, Fenris please,” Anders sobbed. “Please - may I - I need - ”

“Come for me, mage,” he whispered into Anders’ ear and the mage was gone, cock spurting hot ropes of come, body twitching as he orgasmed violently. It was too much for Fenris, feeling the mage’s ass rippling around his cock as he came harder than he could ever remember coming before.

He collapsed on top of Anders, his whole body tingling with the pleasant aftershocks of his orgasm Fenris just lay there as his breath slowly returned to normal, enjoying the feel of Anders trembling beneath him.

He tensed for a moment when Anders began stroking his hair, but eventually relaxed into the comforting feeling.

“Maker,” the mage murmured. “That was… Well. You have some talent, is all I’m saying.”

Fenris snorted.

“Talent? You were screaming my name as if I was the Maker himself, mage.”

“You have a point there,” Anders yawned. “We should’ve started doing this years ago. Think of all the fights we could’ve avoided!”

“Yes, I’m glad I have finally discovered the most efficient way to shut you up,” Fenris said, allowing himself a small smile at the punch to his shoulder that comment earned him.

“Well - I should probably go,” Anders said, not moving.

Fenris could feel his eyes slowly closing.

“Stay, mage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no earthly idea how difficult smut was to write. My compliments to all of the amazing smut writers out there that make it look so effortless because it is... not.


	6. Facing the Tiger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been avoiding replying to all the wonderful comments because I felt like it might be... uncouth? In some way? Learning more about it, it seems like replying to comments is entirely normal thing for authors to do, so from now on I will respond to them as much as possible. So if y'all have questions... hit me!

Anders was just turning off his lantern for the day when Hawke showed up, barging into his clinic like a herd of stampeding druffalo. Anders rolled his eyes affectionately. For a rogue, Hawke was often the least stealthy person Anders knew.

“Anders!” Hawke said expansively. “Healer, mage rights advocate, amazing friend always available to help those in need - ”

Anders snorted. “What do you need now, Hawke?”

“Who says I need anything?” Hawke said. “Maybe I just want to pay a visit to one of my most loyal and generous companions! And may I say you are looking particularly handsome this evening…”

“Subtle, Hawke. Very subtle,” Anders said, grinning. “What are you going to ask me to do that requires this many compliments beforehand?”

“I am wounded that you would think so little of me,” Hawke said, blinking with wide sincere eyes. “But, now that you mention it, there _is_ something you might be able to assist me with.”

Anders folded his arms and leaned back against the wall.

“And what might that be?” he said with amusement.

Hawke’s expression grew serious. “Well, Aveline was just by to see me. Fenris reached out to his sister without telling us. She just landed at the docks and is staying at The Hanged Man.”

Anders absorbed that, smile fading.

He hadn’t seen Fenris since their night together. He’d woken with the elf sprawled over his chest, nose buried in the crook of his neck. It was when he was absently stroking his fingers through Fenris’ soft hair that he’d started to process that he was growing rather attached to the grumpy mage-hating elf.

Anders had never been good at sticking around. When things got tough, he ran. He ran from The Circle, he ran from the Grey Wardens, and he’d run from Fenris before the elf had even awoken. For the last week, he’d gone out of his way to avoid him, finding reasons to leave the room as soon as the elf entered. 

“Apparently, Fenris is going to meet her by himself. If he isn’t there now, he’s on his way,” Hawke continued, seemingly unaware of Anders’ inner struggle.

“You’re worried it’s a trap?” asked Anders.

“This is the one thing Fenris could never stay away from, and Danarius has to know that. There might as well be banner over The Hanged Man that says TRAP in big red letters,” said Hawke. “But because it’s Fenris, of course he’s gone off alone. Aveline is collecting Merrill if possible, but I’d really appreciate it if you would go with me now. I know your feelings for Fenris are… complicated - ”

“Complicated or no,” Anders interrupted, “There’s no way I’d let you face a magister alone. And… Fenris - he shouldn’t be alone either.”

Hawke gave him a searching look, then nodded and turned to leave. “If we hurry we might get there before the fireworks start.”

“The blood magic, you mean,” Anders said grimly.

Anders struggled to keep up with Hawke’s ground-eating pace as they headed to The Hanged Man. His stomach was full of worry and guilt. Fenris should have never felt like he had to face something so important by himself. If Anders wasn’t such a selfish coward, the elf might have trusted him enough to tell him what he was going through. 

By the time they reached the front door of The Hanged Man, Anders’ imagination was in overdrive, torturing him with images of Fenris dead, or Fenris being led away in chains by that blighted blood mage, all because Anders couldn’t deal with his sodding feelings.

Hawke tilted his head and regarded the tavern. “I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but the place looks especially ominous tonight.”

Anders pushed past him and stumbled into the filthy front area, looking around frantically. His heart gave a relieved thump when he spotted Fenris, still in one piece and talking to a red haired elf.

Crossing the room, he could see the family resemblance clearly. Even with the red hair, the elf’s features and her beautiful green eyes bore the stamp of Fenris. 

When Hawke and Anders came into earshot, Anders could hear Fenris’ deep voice saying with awe, “Varania? I...I remember you. We played in our Master’s courtyard while mother worked. You called me…”

“Leto. That’s your name,” Varania said steadily.

Anders’ heart hurt, thinking of a young Fenris with a family and a future, not the broken, bitter elf that he had become after years of abuse. Yet he couldn’t help noticing that Varania seemed off somehow, which Fenris seemed to notice at the same time.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so...?”

“Fenris,” Hawke yelled, pointing up the stairs. Fenris startled so badly Anders knew that he hadn’t been aware they were behind him. A greasy looking man in Tevinter mage robes was descending the stairs, arrogance oozing from every pore.

“Ahhh my little Fenris. Predictable as always,” the man said, practically purring with satisfaction. Anders had never hated someone so completely in his life.

“I’m sorry it came to this Leto,” Varania said, not able to look the brother she had betrayed so thoroughly in the eye.

“You led him here,” Fenris said in disbelief.

“Now, now, Fenris. Don’t blame your sister. She did what any good imperial citizen should,” Danarius said condescendingly. Fenris stiffened in rage and turned his back on his sister, finally facing the man he’d been running from for so long.

“I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius! But I won’t let you kill me to get them,” Fenris said fiercely, unstrapping his greatsword and settling himself into a fighting stance. Anders could feel Justice awakening inside him, drawn by the sheer fury Anders felt racing through his blood.

“Oh, how little you know, my pet. And this is your new master, then? The Champion of Kirkwall? Impressive,” Danarius sneered. Hawke spat with disgust and started sliding to the side of the room, clearly anticipating the fight that was brewing. 

**“Fenris is a free elf, slavemaster. He belongs to no one, and no one is his master. You have enslaved others for your own selfish and petty desires, your lust for power. All you have wronged shall be avenged,”** Justice bellowed, fully manifesting at the words of the magister.

“Shut your mouth, Danarius,” Fenris snarled.

“The word… is master,” Danarius said, with an exaggerated patience. “And your freakish abomination will not save you, pet.”

Fenris growled and leapt at Danarius, his tattoos alighting as he threw himself into battle. Danarius calmly erected a barrier and disappeared as his bodyguards ran forward to engage the warrior.

Anders felt the power of Justice rising within him, the spirit sharing his strength to direct their spells as Anders hastily constructed a barrier around Fenris and sent an arcane bolt into a man leaping to attack the elf. Fenris was a ghost of pure wrath phasing in and out of corporeality as he felled slaver after slaver with long strokes of his greatsword, desperately trying to reach Danarius.

Anders didn’t even have time to turn before a shade that had risen to attack him from behind fell to a bolt through the skull, Varric already reloading Bianca from the top of the stairs. Although Anders couldn’t see the magister directly, he could feel the pull of the fade as Danarius started to summon more shades throughout The Hanged Man.

Everywhere was chaos. Anders desperately cast healing spell after healing spell on Fenris who was at the center of a maelstrom of demons and slavers. He caught a glimpse of Hawke gliding into visibility for the moment needed to stab into a slaver before wreathing himself in shadow again, until the only way to track him through the battlefield were the demons suddenly falling to his daggers.

Lightning began striking throughout the room and he felt Merrill take position beside him, pulling electricity into the shades that continued to endlessly spawn. The sheer scope of the blood magic the magister was using was immeasurable, and even with Justice to support him Anders could feel his mana dropping rapidly.

Aveline charged past him with a battle cry, striking out with her shield and drawing some of the attackers from Fenris. The warriors fell in together back to back, working together seamlessly to rend demons with their swords while Varric kept a continuous spray of arrows punching through numerous enemies.

As Anders enclosed them both in a barrier, he saw Isabela leaping over the bar, kicking a grenade into a cluster of shades as she dove low with her daggers flashing. A rage demon erupted next to her and Anders’ world narrowed to healing and barriers as all of his friends took wounds from multiple foes.

He barely registered the huge orb of force magic that Danarius conjured in the middle of room until Merrill jerked him out of the way. The orb exploded, sending everyone within range to the floor. In the distance, Anders saw Danarius’ barrier finally fall and he took the opportunity to send a fist of stone across the room, knocking Danarius off his feet.

That split second advantage was all they needed, he could feel Merrill casting next to him as raw nature magic began to ensnare Danarius, pulling him from the stairs as he struggled. The last of the shades fell to daggers and arrows while Merrill deposited Danarius in front of Fenris and pulled the magister to his knees before the elf he had wronged.

Fenris was panting, the blue from his lyrium tattoos illuminating his face, which was twisted into an expression of unbearable harshness. 

“You… are no longer my master!” Fenris spat, phasing his hand into Danarius’ chest and removing his heart with a sickening squelch. As the lifeless blood mage tumbled to the ground, Anders could feel Justice withdrawing completely, leaving him tired to his bones.

Fenris turned to his sister, who was trembling in the corner.

“I had no choice, Leto,” the elven woman pleaded.

“Stop calling me that!” Fenris said, voice choked with anger.

“He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a magister.” Fenris flinched as if she’d struck him.

“You sold out your own brother to become a magister?” he asked with disbelief.

Varania looked at Fenris beseechingly. “You have no idea what we went through. What I’ve had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance.”

“And now you have no chance at all,” Fenris started glowing, rage giving his features a feral cast as he reached his hand back to take his sister’s life.

Varania threw her hands up into a defensive gesture and sobbed, looking around the room imploringly, trying and failing to catch anyone’s eye as they all looked away from her. “Please… don’t do this. Please, tell him to stop!”

Anders stepped forward and laid his hand gently on Fenris’ shoulder.

“Fenris,” he said softly. “Don’t.”

“Why not? She was ready to see me killed. What is she to me than just one more tool of the magisters?” Fenris said, looking at Anders with wild eyes.

“It’s not about her. It’s about you. You’ll hate yourself for this eventually, and she isn’t worth that,” Anders said, feeling Fenris tremble beneath his fingers.

After a tense moment, Fenris shoved his sister away from him.

“I would’ve given you everything. Get out,” Fenris said in a dead voice.

Varania ran for her life, pausing at the door to look back at Fenris.

“You said you didn’t ask for this, but that’s not true. You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won you used the boon to have mother and I freed.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Fenris asked tensely.

Varania looked at him sadly. “Freedom was no boon. I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain.”

With that parting shot, she left, leaving a tense silence in her wake. Anders was trying to figure out what to say to Fenris when Corff stuck his head over the bar.

“Andraste’s ass, Hawke!” the bartender spluttered. “How am I going to get all of these… pieces of demon out of here!? I don’t know why I let you through the door, I really don’t.”

“Oh keep your hair on, Corff,” Hawke snapped. “It’s not like you aren’t well paid for it.”

“Since when have I skimped on my body disposal services, Corff?” Varric said huffily. “Not one time, you can’t name a single time. You’ll have your filthy bar back, good as new. Or at least, mildly less covered in blood and piss.”

Anders was ignoring them, looking at Fenris worriedly. The elf didn’t seem to be taking in a single word, staring at the ground with a troubled look on his face.

“Fenris?” Anders ventured nervously.

At that, the warrior snapped to attention, shoving Anders hand off his shoulder and heading for the door without a word.

“Wait, Fenris!” Anders called, hurrying after him.

He caught up with the elf outside, seizing his elbow to try and get Fenris to look at him.

“Get off me!” Fenris growled, yanking his arm back. “What do you want?”

“I just - I wanted - ” Anders said fumblingly. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He hated how weak he sounded, how empty the words were.

Fenris turned and backed Anders up step by step until the mage’s back was against the wall and they were nose to nose.

“We are not friends, abomination,” Fenris said, pronouncing every word with disdain. “Just because you spread your legs for me like a willing slut, just because I fucked you, doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Fenris,” Anders gasped, every word hammering into him and hollowing him out.

“Stay away from me,” Fenris snapped, punching the wall next to Anders’ face with frightening strength.

Anders gulped, trying to blink back tears.

Fenris turned contemptuously and strode away, leaving Anders alone with his regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
> 
> Also, I fully and completely reject that a canon Anders would ever approve of sending Fenris back, regardless of his feelings for him. It's the most out of character thing I've ever seen written in Dragon Age. So I fucking FIXED IT.


	7. A Bottle of Aggregio Pavali

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord, angst. Angst everywhere!

Fenris regarded the bottle of Aggregio Pavali in his hands with disgust. He knew the others thought he drank too much. _He_ knew he drank too much. But the appeal of drinking Danarius’ wine was less a desire for drunkenness and more of a symbolic gesture to punish his former master. To take his luxury items and claim them as his own. The bottles were also good for systematically destroying the mansion, which Fenris had been doing for years. 

Danarius was dead.

Fenris should feel… well, he didn’t really know what he should be feeling. Relief? Happiness? Fenris had never been happy in his life. He didn’t even know if he would recognize it. Right now all he felt was empty and numb.

He’d left Anders on the verge of tears in the street and come back to this hellish mansion. He had steadily drank his way through the wine cellar. He had destroyed furniture, he had put holes in walls. He was no better than a wild animal, snapping at those who tried to comfort him and befouling his living space. _Danarius chose my name well,_ he thought bitterly. He avoided thinking of the way the mage had looked so hurt, face painted with pain that Fenris had put there with his reckless anger.

Once the sheer high of rage had faded, he was grateful to Anders for stopping him from killing Varania. Maybe she had deserved it, maybe she hadn’t. But Fenris knew that he would’ve been haunted forever if he’d watched the light leave her eyes, eyes that looked so much like his own.

He took another sip of the wine, tasting nothing, feeling nothing.

Even from where he had holed up in a room in the back of the mansion, he could hear the insistent banging on his front door. It had happened off and on for the last couple days, people coming and knocking until they finally gave up and went away. One time he’d even heard of snatch of Aveline yelling his name before he’d retreated farther into the mansion. He couldn’t look any of them in the eye. Eventually whoever was at the door would leave and he would be alone again.

Silence fell. Fenris began to doze, lulled by the wine.

He jerked awake when a loud BOOM echoed through the mansion. It was unmistakably the sound of his door being kicked down. 

He lunged for his greatsword, settling himself with his back to the wall. Did Danarius have more forces that would avenge his death? Were the guards or the Templars finally coming to evict him from Hightown?

“FENRIS!”

Fenris relaxed. He’d recognize Hawke’s voice anywhere, though he'd never had the rogue's legendary temper directed his way.

Footsteps reverberated through the floorboards as Hawke ran from room to room, slamming doors.

“FENRIS!”

Fenris blew out a breath. Clearly he was just delaying the inevitable.

“Here, Hawke,” he called, putting down the greatsword.

The door to the room flew open with a vengeance and Hawke stood glaring at him from the doorway. 

Fenris slid down the wall until he was sitting, raising one eyebrow at Hawke’s anger.

Hawke started pacing the room, his large frame making it seem very small.

“I’ve let you sulk in here for almost a full week, Fenris. I said to myself, he’s been through so much, he needs some time alone, be sensitive. But you’ve crossed the line. You’ve crossed the blighted line!”

Fenris said nothing, looking at the floor.

“Merrill just came to me _crying_ Fenris. You made Merrill _cry_ because you won’t answer the door and she’s convinced herself you’re dead in here. The girl makes daisy crowns and tries to hug the sailors at the docks. Making her cry is like kicking a bunny! I refuse to let this go on!”

Hawke paused, looking at Fenris accusingly. When the elf made no indication he was going to answer he exhaled heavily.

“Are you at least going to offer me a drink?” he asked, gesturing to the wine bottle that Fenris still gripped.

Fenris wordlessly gave it over and Hawke settled in next to him, taking a long pull of the expensive vintage.

“Maker,” Hawke said appreciatively. “Stuff’s not half bad. I see why you drink so much of it.”

“Why are you here, Hawke?” Fenris asked bluntly.

“What an impressively stupid question,” Hawke said, taking another generous swig of the wine. “I’m here because my friend is in pain. I thought you might need to talk.”

A charged silence filled the room.

“Plus you made Merrill cry,” Hawke said. “And that can’t happen.”

Fenris looked at his hands, tracing the lines of lyrium with his fingers and relishing the ache. 

“I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that too. There’s nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone,” Fenris said bleakly.

Hawke sighed. 

“Fenris, I hope you take this in the spirit of love in which it is intended, but you can fuck right off.”

Fenris looked at Hawke, startled.

“I don’t know if you noticed when you were twirling that impressively large sword about, but you didn’t face Danarius alone. Every single one of your friends was there, risking their lives to fight a veritable army of demons conjured by some asshole blood mage.”

A deep feeling of shame began to build in the pit of Fenris’ stomach.

“And you’re blaming magic for what happened? What about the two mages who were the ones to literally drop Danarius at your feet for you?”

Fenris didn’t know what to say. Everything Hawke was saying was true, and it hurt. He bowed his head, ears flushing. 

“You’ve spent years calling Anders an abomination and Merrill a witch, but neither of them even hesitated when it came to protecting you.”

Fenris didn’t know where to look. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t know what to say, and the silence stretched out uncomfortably.

Hawke nudged his shoulder and offered the bottle. Fenris took it, but suddenly had no interest drinking more wine. He should leave. He should leave Kirkwall behind and go somewhere, _anywhere_ else.

“Stop it,” Hawke said.

Fenris darted a questioning look at him.

“I can actually feel your brooding,” Hawke said with exasperated affection. “It’s like a physical force. Maybe actually get some of those heavy thoughts out of your head and into the open, Fenris. It might surprise you how helpful that is.”

Fenris stared blankly at the bottle of wine. 

“I don’t know how,” he said honestly.

“Let’s start with something simple then,” Hawke said. “Why are you hiding in this mansion? You’re free now.”

“I don’t feel free,” Fenris said, realizing how true it was when he finally spoke the words out loud. 

He’d built his whole life since escaping around running from Danarius, revenging himself upon Danarius, killing Danarius. Now that the magister was finally dead, what was left? 

“What does freedom mean to you, Fenris?” Hawke asked gently. 

Fenris shrugged grimly.

“Does it seem like a question you are going to answer drunkenly holing up in this place?” Hawke asked.

“No,” Fenris admitted, his voice low.

Hawke took the wine bottle from him gingerly, like he thought Fenris was going to fight him for it, and set it to the side. He ran his hands through his hair, choosing his words with care.

“You can do whatever you want now, Fenris. You can build a life for yourself, maybe even here in Kirkwall,” Hawke said.

Fenris tried to imagine what such a life would look like, his thoughts immediately filled with the mage’s kind smile and teasing laughter. He shied away from that image instinctively. But then… _Why not? Why can’t I have that?_

“You’re free to make bad decisions. You’re free to be kind, or to be cruel. You can decide to stay trapped in your pain, or to seek happiness. It’s all up to you. But you aren’t alone. You have me, and you have… others, who care about you. Who will help you find your path. You only have to let them,” Hawke said earnestly.

“Why?” Fenris asked helplessly, turning to Hawke and finally meeting the rogue’s eyes.

“Why what?” Hawke replied with a confused look on his face.

“Why haven’t you - given up on me? I know - I know I am difficult,” Fenris said miserably.

Hawke looked sad. 

“Because you have suffered enough. That elf in there… she wasn’t your family. We’re your family. And that will never change.”

Fenris closed his eyes, trying to hold back the rush of feeling. His chest hurt, filling with some unnameable emotion he didn’t fully understand. He felt Hawke standing up next to him, but he was afraid to open his eyes, afraid of what Hawke would see there.

He felt the brush of Hawke’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Speaking as one free man to another, when you hurt someone you care about, an apology is a good first step.”

Fenris drew in a shuddering breath, listening to Hawke’s tread as the rogue began to leave the room.

“Hawke,” he said, forcing the word out and looking up at his best friend.

Hawke paused.

“Yes, Fenris?”

Fenris cleared his throat.

“Thank you,” he said. “And - I’m sorry.”

Hawke beamed at him, and Fenris felt one side of his mouth tilt up in response.

“You’re welcome. And - you’re forgiven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In draft form this chapter was entitled DEAL WITH YOUR SHIT, FENRIS!


	8. A Darktown Cat

Anders was setting out a bowl of milk for hypothetical Darktown cats, more out of habit than hope, when a low, rough voice drifted out from behind him.

“What are you doing, mage?”

Anders whirled, his traitorous heart twisting unexpectedly. A week of convincing himself he didn’t care what the elf thought of him was gone in an instant, lost in the surge of heat that suffused his body at the sound of that voice.

“Maker, Fenris! You can’t just sneak up on me like that! Justice doesn’t handle elves jumping out of dark corners very well. You’re lucky you didn’t get a fireball to the face!” Anders snapped, trying to keep his voice steady and hide his reaction.

Fenris ducked his head, a flush spreading up his cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

Anders heaved a sigh, running his hands through his hair. When he had started the day, the last thing he’d expected was a surly elf on his doorstep. It had been another long one, healing until his mana was completely gone. He was exhausted beyond measure, barely keeping his feet.

“I put out milk for the cats,” he said abruptly.

Fenris looked confused.

“Cats?”

“You know, small furry creatures that you cuddle? You pet them and they purr?” Anders said wearily.

Fenris looked around, as if a horde of cats was suddenly going to appear from the shadowed nooks of Darktown to descend upon them. 

“I’ve never actually seen one down here,” Anders said. “I miss having a cat around. But I think the refugees have scared them all off. Or maybe eaten them.”

Fenris was fidgeting, shifting from one foot to another and examining the soles of his feet. An awkward silence fell, Anders not sure what to say or why Fenris was here. Hadn’t the elf made his feelings perfectly clear? Anders had spent the last week burying himself in his healing and obsessively working on the manifesto. Justice was right, the elf was a distraction from his work. He should be glad that he didn’t mean anything to Fenris, it was all for the better really - 

“I came to apologize,” Fenris murmured, almost too low to hear.

Anders’ brain stuttered to a stop, breath catching in his chest.

“I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was… not myself. I am sorry.” 

Fenris looked up at him through his shock of white hair, green eyes huge and beseeching. It was bleeding _unfair_ how pretty he was, how Anders’ whole being ached to close the distance between them, to press his body against the elf’s, breathe him in.

“Well,” he said, voice trembling despite all his efforts to keep it even.

Fenris took a step, and Anders swayed towards him dizzily.

“Well,” he said again. “Well, okay.”

“Okay?” Fenris said, taking another step. 

“Yeah,” Anders breathed, rapidly losing the ability to use words.

Fenris reached out tentatively and slid a hand to the small of his back. Anders wobbled dangerously, and with a tug from Fenris he tumbled into the elf, instinctively burying his nose in the crook of Fenris’ neck, inhaling the comforting smell.

Fenris stroked his spine in one smooth movement, causing Anders to shiver. His limbs turned liquid, the week’s tension draining out of him. His eyes fluttered closed and he relaxed against the elf’s strong chest.

“Mage,” Fenris rumbled, the vibrations echoing through Anders pleasantly.

“Mmph,” Anders said.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Can’t remember,” Anders admitted, words slurring. He was so tired. How had he not noticed how _tired_ he was?

He heard Fenris sigh, then his world tilted as Fenris picked him up. He curled into the elf’s lean body drowsily as Fenris carried him through the clinic. He felt himself being lowered onto his cot. As uncomfortable as it normally was, he was so heavy with fatigue it felt amazing.

Fenris’ hand cradled his head.

“Mage,” Fenris said.

Anders opened his eyes with great effort, blearily peeking at Fenris, who was crouched next to the cot looking at him with concern.

“When did you last eat?”

“Yesterday?” Anders said, yawning and turning it into a question.

Fenris blew out an exasperated breath.

“Mage. You need to eat.”

Anders nodded, eyes falling shut only to be shaken awake by Fenris.

“I brought you this,” the elf said shyly, holding out a hand.

Anders focused on what Fenris was offering him. It was a Fereldan honey apple.

The mage felt tears pricking at his eyes, and he buried his face into his meager pillow, unable to look at Fenris. 

“Anders,” Fenris said, sounding worried. “I didn’t - if I upset you - ”

Anders snorted into the pillow, then forced himself to stop hiding his face and meet Fenris’ concerned gaze.

“Being silly,” he mumbled, choking the words out past the ache in his chest.

With effort, he hauled himself into sitting, taking the apple. 

“Thank you,” he said.

Fenris nudged his knee.

“I brought it for you to eat, mage. Not to stare at.”

Anders huffed out a laugh. 

“What will you give me?” he asked teasingly.

Fenris looked into his eyes.

“What do you want?” the elf asked, his voice husky. Anders felt his whole body tighten, Fenris’ voice washing over him. _Everything_ , he thought wildly.

“Kisses,” Anders said. “I want kisses.”

The warrior’s eyes darkened and dropped to his lips and Anders leaned forward involuntarily, the tension thrumming between them electric with promise.

“Eat,” Fenris said. “Eat, and we can discuss kisses, mage.”

The elf stood and headed to the door, while Anders obediently took a bite of the apple. The taste was heavenly, and Anders knew he’d never eat a honey apple again without thinking of the sweetness of Fenris’ kisses. His stomach rumbled and suddenly he was ravenous, the apple disappearing rapidly as Fenris turned off his lantern and locked the clinic door.

By the time Fenris returned to him, Anders was flagging again, a wave of fatigue washing over him as the apple core dropped to the floor from his nerveless fingers.

His eyelids dipped and he fought to stay awake as Fenris tucked himself into the cot and drew the mage into his arms. 

"Will you be here when I awake?" Fenris asked him wryly. 

Anders looked up at him, blushing when he remembered how he'd run last time.

"I wouldn't have the energy to run even if I wanted to," he whispered. "And I don't want to." 

Fenris smiled down at him.

“Sleep now, mage,” Fenris said, stroking his arms, then his sides. He felt himself melting into the embrace, making pleased humming noises as he burrowed as close as he could to the elf. 

Fenris chuckled, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“Perhaps you are the cat, mage,” he said. “Purring when I pet you.”

He didn’t have the energy to respond, and he drifted away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders and I both had the intention of making Fenris grovel for forgiveness... yeah. That didn't happen. That stupid pretty elf, who can resist him?


	9. The Brutal Wound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to notice the new tags - it is not at all graphic but there is implied/referenced rape/non-con in this chapter, so protect yourself accordingly.

For the first time, Fenris woke before Anders. It was no wonder, even after a full night’s rest Fenris could see the traces of exhaustion on the mage’s face. He hesitated, then brushed a few strands of honeyed hair away so he could see Anders more clearly. 

The mage was nestled firmly against his chest, breaths slow and even. Even in the perpetual dimness of Darktown, his beauty shone through. Fenris felt a surge of possessiveness and couldn’t resist stroking a finger along the stubbled jawline. 

Why did this impossible man suddenly make him hope he could leave his anger behind? Why had hurting Anders felt so much like hurting himself? Why did he desire him with such a painful intensity, why did he want to protect him? He’d been torturing himself with _why_ for far too long. He was so fed up with the question of _why_ , he was ready to accept that it just _was_ , with no rhyme or reason behind it. It had come out of nowhere, but that didn’t make it any less real.

Anders murmured and stirred, scooching closer and burying his face against Fenris’ neck. The elf smiled to himself, enjoying the feel of the mage’s pliant body against his own. He slid a hand along Anders’ spine to the small of his back and the mage made the delightful purring noise that Fenris was quickly getting addicted to. 

Fenris watched affectionately as Anders arched into a stretch, eyes blinking open slowly. He saw the exact moment the mage registered his presence, eyes softening as he looked up at Fenris.

“Morning,” Anders mumbled, hiding his face against Fenris’ shoulder.

“You are still here, mage,” Fenris teased.

Anders nodded, face still hidden. He said something into Fenris’ chest, words inaudible.

“What was that?” Fenris, gently tilting the mage’s face towards him.

“You owe me kisses,” Anders whispered, blushing adorably pink, eyes firmly closed.

“Hmm, so I do,” Fenris rumbled, amused at the mage’s bashfulness. The man had such a brash personality, rebellious and bold. He would’ve never thought to see the mage turn shy like this, but he couldn’t deny he liked seeing Anders so flustered.

“Is that how it works now?” Fenris asked. “You eat and sleep on a regular basis and I reward you with kisses?”

Anders peeked up at him, biting his lip. He shrugged.

Fenris cradled the mage’s jaw, stroking a thumb over Anders’ bottom lip. Anders let out a soft gasp, mouth parting. Then, with a mischievous look on his face, he nipped at Fenris’ thumb.

Fenris growled, low and possessive. With one fluid movement, he flipped them, Anders ending up on top of him with a yelp, straddling his hips. Fenris slid his hands up Anders’ thighs until they settled at his waist.

“What if you do not behave?” Fenris asked, enjoying the feeling of a lapful of soft mage. “Do I then get to punish you?”

Anders whimpered, hips involuntarily bucking.

“I see,” Fenris said, cock rapidly hardening as the mage squirmed delightfully above him. 

He sat up, drawing Anders into a firm embrace, faces mere inches from each other. 

“I accept,” he murmured, tangling his hand in the mage’s hair and baring his neck. He licked a stripe up Anders’ neck and began nibbling at his jawline, savoring the enticing noises he was drawing from the mage. Anders was rolling his hips against him, every slide making Fenris ache.

“Mmm, so eager,” he chuckled. He felt Anders tense. Turning to look at him, he almost missed the shadow that flickered through amber eyes before it was gone and the mage was smiling. He remembered his careless words outside The Hanged Man, the hurt look he had put on the mage’s face.

“Anders,” he said. “I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”

Anders shrugged carelessly, giving him a wicked grin.

“I mean, I don’t know. I did used to be pretty slutty before Justice. I worked my way through half of Ferelden when I was on the run from The Circle. And Maker knows I was definitely willing with you!” Anders said with a laugh, not meeting his eyes.

“Anders. Look at me,” Fenris said firmly. 

“Have you ever heard of The Pearl? In Denerim? I’m sure they’d have some stories to tell!” the mage continued, still looking anywhere but Fenris.

“Anders,” Fenris said, gently cupping the mage’s face with both hands and forcing him meet his eyes.

“I said what I said because I was hurt. I didn’t mean it.”

Anders was finally looking at him, his eyes open and vulnerable. Fenris wanted the mage to never fear him, not him nor his words. 

“The way you respond to me is - it’s beautiful.” He grabbed the mage’s hips and held him down firmly. “The fact that when I do _this_ \- ” he drove his hips up, grinding his throbbing cock against the mage. “You do _that_ \- ” he said with satisfaction as Anders arched from his thrust, head thrown back and a carnal sob falling from his lips.

He gentled his touch, letting Anders tremble against him as he wrapped his arms around the mage and pulled him in close.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into Anders’ ear, the mage shivering at his words. “And you don’t know what you do to me. How you make me _ache_ \- ”

He didn’t know how to explain it in words, so he stopped trying and finally kissed Anders, kissed him with all the passion he kept deeply buried, kissed him with nothing but pure need. The mage moaned into his mouth and kissed him back, wrapping his arms around Fenris and riding the needy buck of the elf’s hips. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Anders whined between kisses, hands skimming the few places that Fenris’ armor didn’t cover, fingers teasing the lyrium lines along Fenris’ spine. 

“So are you, mage,” Fenris shot back, trying to get his questing hands under the mage’s damnably confusing robes. 

Anders snickered as one of Fenris’ hands got tangled in one of the robe’s inexplicable buckles. 

“Venhedis,” Fenris swore, trying to examine the odd fastenings slung across Anders’ chest. 

“These are basically skirts,” he said grumpily. “Why are they so difficult?”

“You’re one to talk,” Anders said with an exasperated huff. “This blighted breastplate is covered in dangerous spikes and I can’t tell where it would even come off! I’m lucky your armor didn’t stab me during the night!”

Fenris was considering just ripping the robes from the mage, but his sharp gauntlets were somewhere on the floor. Maybe if he could figure out which buckle strap went where?

“Why did you keep your armor on to sleep anyway?” Anders asked irritably.

“Because some fool mage who doesn’t know the basics of caring for himself fell asleep on me,” Fenris snapped, finally managing to undo the clasp nearest to the mage’s waist. “And I didn’t want to wake him up!”

He felt Anders shaking against him and looked up with concern, only to see Anders laughing, covering his mouth and trying to hold it back.

Their eyes met and Anders lost control completely, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. 

“Look at the pair of us,” Anders said, practically wheezing. “We can’t even get each other naked!” 

Fenris smiled at him and offered a dry chuckle.

“Maybe you should help me,” he suggested.

Anders settled a bit, still laughing softly as he took Fenris’ hands and showed him the order to undoing his robes. When all of the buckles were undone, the robe sagged loose, and Fenris was finally able to draw it up over the mage’s head. He tossed it somewhere, not particularly caring where it landed now that he finally had a mostly naked Anders in his lap.

His breath caught at the sight of the large scar Anders had on his chest, right over his heart. He must have missed it in the dim lighting of the mansion, or maybe he’d been too impatient to feel the mage around him to take in the details of his body during their night together. Fenris laid his hand over the remnants of the brutal wound, unable to fathom how Anders could have possibly survived it.

Anders was watching him, sober now. 

“Courtesy of a templar,” he offered with a bitter grin. “Would’ve died without Justice.”

Fenris traced the disfiguration, feeling Anders’ pulse quicken beneath his fingers before they slid to another long scar along the mage’s side.

“And this one?” he asked softly.

“Hurlock,” Anders said promptly. “There’s a reason I hate the sodding Deep Roads.”

Fenris hummed thoughtfully, gathering Anders back into his arms and breathing gentle kisses along his shoulder. His hands crept to the mage’s back, where he could see further signs of abuse. Here was a patchwork of scars, crisscrossing the breadth of Anders’ back, from shoulders to waist. Fenris closed his eyes, well acquainted with the scars that repeated floggings produced. His hands gently caressed the raised flesh, trying to soothe without words, because there were no words for this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fenris asked quietly. “All these years you were trying to get me to believe in the mage’s oppression, why wouldn’t you tell me this?”

He felt Anders sigh, before tucking his face in the crook of Fenris’ shoulder and just letting himself be held.

“It wasn’t supposed to be about me,” he answered. “I got away. The mages in The Circle - they’re still there, still suffering - ”

He shuddered, falling silent for a moment.

“The beatings weren’t enough to stop me,” Anders said without inflection. “I kept running - kept choosing freedom even after the punishments. Eventually, they - they locked me away. I spent a year in solitary confinement. There was no one - no one to talk to, no one to - ” 

The mage’s voice broke and he took several calming breaths. Fenris could feel silent tears falling against the shoulder where Anders was curled into him.

“After awhile, I was so glad to see anybody, even the templars - there were some that visited - more than once - ”

Anders fell silent, overwhelmed.

Fenris said nothing, rubbing calming circles into the tension in Anders’ shoulders and neck until he felt the mage slowly relax.

“My master never flogged me,” Fenris said finally. “He didn’t want any disfiguration to mar his prize. He wanted to be able to show me off to the other magisters.”

He swallowed deeply, pausing. He’d never told anyone this, not even Hawke. 

“Sometimes, when I displeased him - he’d make me flog another slave in my place. Sometimes, he wouldn’t let me - stop until - ” Fenris hesitated. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep going.

“Other times he’d - give me to other magisters - ” Fenris stopped, not knowing how to finish that sentence around the lump in his throat.

“Shhhh - ” Anders said, leaning back to look into Fenris’ eyes. The mage’s eyes were still a bit damp but he met the elf’s gaze steadily before he bent to bring their mouths together. Fenris’ eyelids fluttered closed as Anders kissed him, so softly it was barely more than a graze of lips. 

Groaning, he ruthlessly deepened the kiss, unable to keep himself from the temptation that was Anders’ mouth. He lost himself in the taste, the needy gasps the mage was making as he stroked their tongues together. 

“Fenris,” Anders said with a husky moan. “Fenris, _please_ \- you’re still wearing your sodding armor!”

Fenris barked out a laugh. He unbuckled his belt, freeing the bottom of his breastplate and taking off the tight leather, where it joined the mounting pile of unimportant things on the earthen floor of Anders’ clinic. 

Anders fell forward, hungrily lapping at the lyrium lines along his chest. 

“Mage!” Fenris said with a fond irritation as he tried to move Anders out of his way so he could unlace his leggings.

“Not my fault,” Anders rasped. “You taste so good even Justice wants to lick you. And nobody told you to wear armor so tight you have to peel it off yourself.”

Fenris huffed, finally kicking his leggings off despite the distraction of a voracious mage who was apparently attempting to get his tongue on every inch of the elf’s body.

“You’re the one still wearing smalls, mage,” he pointed out, reveling in the feel of Anders pressed against him, finally skin to skin.

“Wait,” Anders stopped licking him and looked down at him in surprise. “Do you not wear smalls?”

Fenris smirked up at him, shaking his head.

Anders started laughing again.

“Oh, that is _too_ good. Isabela is never going to be able to guess, is she?” Anders said, dissolving into giggles.

“Enough, mage,” Fenris growled, pulling the mage back against him. He was so hard it _hurt_ , everything in him hot and straining. He grabbed a fistful of Anders’ smalls and simply pulled, ripping them from the mage’s body. The feel of Anders’ erection against his stomach inflamed him and he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing against it, wanton and out of control.

Anders whimpered.

“Need you - ” he panted. “Fenris - I need you now - ”

“Where is your slick?” Fenris moaned, nibbling up the mage’s neck and laving his ear.

“Can’t wait - ” Anders said. “Can I - please - magic?”

Fenris’ eyes snapped to the mage, his body tensing. Anders was looking at him pleadingly. He nodded slowly. With anyone else - but this was Anders, and he trusted him.

Anders reached a hand down and slid his fingers along Fenris’ cock. Magic flashed through his tattoos and he arched, letting out a strangled grunt at the powerful burst of pleasure. 

Anders was already fitting himself over Fenris’ cock, crying out as he began to impale himself. 

“Anders,” Fenris gasped. “You’ll hurt yourself - ”

“Don’t care,” Anders said. “ _Need_ you - ”

Fenris tried to protest, but Anders took him a few more inches and he lost the ability of speech. Nothing existed but the tight, wet heat of Anders surrounding him. It was all he could do to not thrust up into the mage, take him all the way.

“Ungh - fasta vass - ” Fenris snarled, ecstasy overwhelming him with every slide of Anders’ body against his cock.

The mage was making the most exquisite noises as he took Fenris’ cock, liquid moans falling from his lips with every inch. His head was thrown back, back bowed and eyes closed. Fenris had never seen a more arousing sight than Anders riding him, fucking down on him an inch at a time.

Every muscle in Fenris’ body was trembling as he held back, trying to stay as still as possible as Anders rolled his hips to take him the final inch. When his ass finally rested against Fenris’ thighs he collapsed forward, groaning into Fenris’ chest.

“Maker, Fen - ” he choked out. “You feel so good - ”

Fenris could feel his control unraveling, breaking under the sheer euphoria of being buried in his mage, surrounded by his scent. He rocked his hips up, shuddering as Anders tightened around him with a yelp. He held the mage down by his hips, keeping him still as he started thrusting faster, settling them in a steady rhythm.

His mage was making beautiful, broken, incoherent sounds every time he slid home, balls slapping against the tight ass stretched around his cock. 

Fenris could tell that neither of them were going to last very long, the pleasure was too intense. He could feel Anders’ moans getting more insistent with every rock of his hips.

“Please - _please_ , Fenris - ” Anders whispered, draped bonelessly over his chest and taking his cock like he was built for it.

He kissed the side of Anders’ sweaty forehead. 

“Anytime, mage,” he said. “Come for me.”

It only took a few more thrusts, and Anders was crying out into Fenris’ shoulder, his whole body going rigid. Fenris fell soon after, driven to completion by the nearly unbearable bliss of Anders tightening around him.

Fenris collapsed back, bringing Anders with him. He couldn’t resist stroking the mage’s back and rewarding himself with a throaty and exhausted purr from Anders. He smiled at the sound and held his mage to his chest.

He was tired of running. Finally, there was nothing left to run from. He’d faced the tiger and survived. Now it was time to do more than that. Now it was time to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there such a thing as Fluff/Smut? Flut? Smuff? What about Angst/Fluff/Smut? Anflut? Anyway - feel all the feelings.


	10. An Amorous Pirate

Anders shuffled his cards nervously, trying not to look at Fenris, who was settled in next to him. They had come to Wicked Grace night together, though no one had seemed to notice. Anders was grateful, and they had come to an unspoken agreement not to bring up - whatever this was - in front of their friends. For Anders, it was too intense, and too new, and possibly too fragile. He wasn’t sure it would hold up under the weight of Varric and Isabela’s teasing.

The warrior had spent all day with him, working his way through a book on Shartan that Hawke had given him, while Anders treated patients. Occasionally he would ask Anders for help with a difficult word or acted as an extra pair of hands when Anders needed them. Around midday he had disappeared and returned with a meal that he then insisted Anders eat, not letting him go back to work until the plate was scraped clean.

Having Fenris just _there_ \- quietly woven into the fabric of his day - had been surprisingly pleasant. He had gone through his routine as normal, mildly aware of Fenris’ comforting presence in the background.

“Blondie!” Varric called out, forcing his attention back to the game. “Are you in or out?”

“Uhhhhhhh,” Anders managed, looking at his hand uncomprehendingly. What was that card? A snake? Or a dagger? Both? Was that good? He was pretty sure that he was supposed to have more than one of them for it to be good, but couldn’t remember. Maker, even the sodding mabari was better at this than he was. 

“Ever the wordsmith, Anders,” Hawke said with a chuckle. “You’ll put Varric out of a job!”

He looked around at his friends, who were all looking at him with amusement. Even Merrill was giggling quietly into cupped hands. He caught Isabela taking a peek at his hand from her spot at his side. He glared at her and she winked unabashedly.

Varric sighed.

I think you are actually getting worse, Blondie,” he said. “And I honestly didn’t think that was possible.” 

“I have other things on my mind!” Anders protested.

“Like what?” Hawke asked with interest, peering around Isabela.

“Injustice! An end to the oppression of mages!” Fenris said suddenly, his cadence exaggerated and voice deepened in an obvious impression of Justice.

Anders gaped at him, astonished. Was Fenris - teasing him? Fenris was deadpan but Anders detected a faint glint of humor in his eye.

“Well what’s on _your_ mind?” Anders asked, fighting to keep his face straight. He dropped his voice in a fair imitation of Fenris’ gravelly tones.

“Magic is a blight upon the world. It will doom us all! Magic, magic, magic! Grrrrr,” he finished, throwing in a growl for good measure and had to catch himself from laughing out loud at the twitch of Fenris’ lips as the elf tried not to smile.

“Ooooh, that’s very clever, isn’t it?” Merrill said, clapping her hands together. “Someone do me!”

“Has anyone seen the clouds today?” Varric said in a dreamy ethereal voice. “I like to think they have lovely conversations in the sky and talk about rainbows!”

Merrill giggled, turning a bit pink, while Isabela roared with laughter and took another big gulp from her tankard.

“Sex. Sex. Sex and the ocean. Boats! Boats and loot!” Aveline said, trying and failing utterly to capture Isabela’s sultry purr, which somehow made it even funnier.

The whole table was howling with mirth at this point, Isabela wiping away tears as she replied, “Well, you know me, big girl, I like big boats and I cannot lie!”

Anders’ snort of laughter suddenly turned into a startled gasp as he felt Fenris’ hand on his knee, slowly sliding up to his inner thigh. The mage hunched against the table instinctively and turned to look at Fenris with shock. The elf was determinedly not looking at him, but Anders could see a flush creeping up his cheekbones and to his pointed ears.

Flames shot through his body, and he was suddenly, achingly hard. He shifted in his seat and swallowed, mouth dry. He tried to keep his face expressionless as Fenris’ lithe fingers continued stroking him, inches from his cock. He placed sweaty palms on the table, trying to stay upright and not sway towards Fenris, his cards forgotten and spilled about him carelessly.

He could see Fenris out of the corner of his eye, calmly talking to Varric while his hand was slowly taking Anders apart. One of the elf’s gentle caresses ghosted over a sensitive spot, and Anders breath stuttered in an aroused pant. He saw Fenris’ ears twitch violently, and heat pooled low in his belly at the knowledge that he was affecting Fenris as much as Fenris was affecting him.

He felt Isabela lean into his side, breasts pressed invitingly along his arm.

“Anders,” she slurred. “You used to be so much more fun!”

“I’m sorry, Bela,” he said, looking down at her fondly. “I know it’s disappointing to you that I’m now harboring a stick-in-the-mud spirit of Justice.”

She leaned into her hand, batting her eyes at him.

“I’ve never forgotten the _marvelous_ things you can do with magic,” she said seductively, dropping her voice. “That electricity thing… I’ve never met another mage who could do it.”

Anders felt Fenris’ hand clench on his thigh, stopping just short of pain. Anders tensed. Isabela made a pass at him every once in awhile, and while he usually enjoyed the flirting he was in disbelief of her abominable timing.

“I’m - I’m glad you liked it,” he stuttered, unsure how he had suddenly become trapped between an amorous pirate and a broody elf. A broody elf who was now _growling._

Around them the game had dissolved into Varric telling a story about a mischievous nug and Lord Pyral Harrowmont while everyone laughed. How was he going to get himself out of this?

Anders had just started considering setting something on fire as a distraction, when Hawke suddenly pulled Isabela into his lap.

“Now, now my beautiful queen of the seas,” he said teasingly. “Are you ignoring me?”

“Hardly, my delicious rogue,” Isabela with a pouting smirk. “But all you do is tease, tease, tease. You’ve yet to even give me a _taste_ of what that beard would feel like between my thighs.”

Anders scarcely had time to ponder his narrow escape before Hawke bounced Isabela on his lap and somehow knocked over all the drinks on their side of the table. Flagons of ale went flying as everyone jumped back, Varric swearing as he tried to save some of the cards.

“Hawke, you clumsy oaf,” Aveline said irritably, trying to wipe ale off her armor. “How did you manage that?”

Anders gave an undignified squeak as Fenris dragged him to his feet by his robes. “I will get more drinks. The mage will come with me to help carry,” Fenris announced to the table, the stormcloud on his face daring anyone to disagree.

Anders barely kept his feet as Fenris hauled him out of Varric’s room and into the hallway. They’d only made it a few strides before Fenris veered unexpectedly and burst right into someone’s room.

A rough-looking man gawked at them from his bed, looking rightly confused as to why an angry elf had suddenly exploded into his room towing a feathered apostate.

“Out,” Fenris growled.

“Now, see here,” the man said, bristling in delayed outrage.

Fenris lit his tattoos.

“Out.”

The man yelped and was gone in seconds, slamming the door behind him.

Anders felt like his brain was moving in slow motion, not able to keep up with the sensory overload of Fenris manhandling him so intimately. He gasped as the elf pinned him firmly against the wall, grinding his cock into him and making him see stars.

Fenris caged him, palms flat on the wall, and bit his neck.

“Mine,” he said, and Anders could feel the rumble of Fenris’ voice resonate through his whole body, making him shudder. The elf nibbled his way up his neck and jawline, then tugged Anders’ earlobe between his teeth.

“Will you be able to be silent, mage?” he breathed the question against Anders’ ear and the mage let out a full-bodied moan that was the opposite of silent.

Fenris chuckled under his breath.

“That answers that question, it seems,” he said with an amused lilt. “I guess I shall have to gag you, then.”

Anders was sure he was mishearing, but he couldn’t seem to breathe enough oxygen into his lungs, dizzy with Fenris and his own fierce arousal.

Fenris dropped to his knees with a sinuous grace, reaching up Anders’ robes and sliding his smalls down the mage’s long legs.

“Fen,” Anders panted, completely undone as Fenris expertly navigated his smalls past his boots. “What - ”

Fenris stood smoothly, smalls in hand.

“Open your mouth, mage,” he commanded silkily.

Anders’ mouth dropped open without thought, everything in him straining toward Fenris, hungering to please him, to obey his every demand.

Fenris hummed his approval and without breaking eye contact, eased the smalls into Anders’ mouth, gently closing his jaw around them.

Anders’ knees simply gave out, the scent and taste of his lust drowning him. This was filthy, decadent, and his mind went utterly, blissfully blank. There was nothing but sensation, and he floated, Fenris holding him upright against the wall with effortless strength.

Fenris was on his knees again, and Anders felt the elf’s fingers grasp him under his knee, drawing one leg over Fenris’ shoulder. Anders swayed, but Fenris’ hand was firmly pressed against his navel, his robe clasped in the elf’s fist.

The first swipe of Fenris’ tongue against his cock had him crying out, bucking his hips against the elf’s ruthless assault. The heat of his mouth enveloped Anders’ cock and every lick of his tongue sent a bolt of white hot pleasure through Anders and soon the mage was sobbing, the sound muffled by the smalls in his mouth.

He caught sight of Fenris looking up at him, the green of his eyes almost swallowed by black, Anders’ cock hilted in his mouth and he almost spent himself. The elf slid his mouth off him with visible reluctance.

“No, mage,” he said, voice husky. “You will not come yet.”

Fenris held up a hand expectantly, and Anders stared at it uncomprehendingly until understanding dawned. With a flush, he coated the offered hand with magical slick and tried not to whine in anticipation.

Fenris smirked at him, his gaze wicked, as lithe elven fingers began to tease his hole. Anders’ whole body was quaking, and he fought to remain standing. A fight that became markedly much more difficult as Fenris slid one slender finger inside him. One finger stroking inside him quickly became two, and Anders’ eyes rolled back in his head when those clever fingers curled, stroking the spot inside him that made the bones in his body go liquid.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, Fenris slid in a third finger while simultaneously swallowing the mage’s cock. The wave of fire that burned across Anders’ consciousness was indescribable, as his body jerked between impaling his ass on those talented fingers, or his cock in that delicious mouth.

He screamed around the drool-soaked smalls stuffed in his mouth, trying to beg Fenris to let him come. The warrior seemed to understand and the sound of his wordless assent vibrated against Anders’ aching balls.

The world fell apart. His orgasm seemed to last forever, crystallizing in his mind as pure ecstasy as he came in the elf’s welcoming mouth.

When he started to come back to himself, Fenris was standing, and already had the mage’s pliant body spread for him.

“I’m going to fuck you, Anders,” Fenris said hoarsely. “I’m going to make you scream. I’m going to make you forget everything except my name and the fact that you are mine.”

Anders felt drunk, everything around him simultaneously too bright and too hazy. He collapsed against Fenris, arms wrapping around the elf who had become the only solid thing in his universe.

He felt Fenris slide into him in one perfect thrust and all he could do was hold on, tears sliding down his cheeks as he was fucked, every stroke making him cry out into the elf’s shoulder. The steady pace was as inexorable as the tides and Fenris unmade him.

He knew vaguely that he must be screaming, because soon the gag made of his sodden smalls was no longer enough to capture his heated cries, Fenris covering his mouth as Anders keened with every pound of Fenris’ cock into him.

He felt the elf’s hot breath against his ear, murmuring depraved endearments to him with every rut of his hips.

“So tight for me,” Fenris whispered. “So hot, so good. Do you think the others can hear you? Do you think they can hear you scream for me?”

Anders could only moan, body limp and trembling. Fenris’ rhythm started to stagger, and a hoarse grunt was torn from his lips as he flooded Anders with his come, heat painting the mage’s insides.

Anders was only hazily aware when Fenris tenderly removed the smalls from his mouth and helped him stand. The elf began to massage his jaw, which was sore from clenching around the fabric, and was petting him with long affectionate strokes as his mind slowly began to function again. He nuzzled Fenris’ neck, inhaling the elf’s unique scent.

Eventually he began to register that Fenris was talking to him, fixing his robes and his hair and putting him back together again. He smiled at his elf dreamily.

“Anders,” Fenris said sternly. “You have to walk now. You are going to walk downstairs with me, and we are going to order drinks and return to Varric’s suite.”

“Yes, Fenris,” he said, his limbs loose and his mind free.

Fenris smiled at him, and he smiled back. It was the first full smile he’d ever gotten from Fenris and it was so heartbreakingly beautiful, the elf’s moss green eyes bottomless. He looked genuinely happy, and it made something in Anders take flight.

“These,” Fenris said with a smirk, holding up Anders’ abused smalls. “These are now mine.”

Anders watched with bemusement as the elf cleverly tucked his smalls up the sleeve of his armor. The thought of something so intimate being hidden so close to Fenris made him blush.

He obediently followed Fenris down the stairs, and stood calmly while Corff poured them ale. The stench and coarse ambience of The Hanged Man intruded on his pleasant afterglow, but it was for the best. When he was handed a trayful of drinks, he was steady.

By the time they were back in Varric’s room, he was almost back to his normal demeanor, and he managed to pass out ale and act as if nothing had happened.

His friends were happy to receive fresh drinks and he grinned at each of them, inordinately fond of everyone in the room.

He relaxed back into the jovial atmosphere, Fenris’ hand subtly back on his thigh. He froze and blushed as he felt Fenris’ come slowly drip out of his well-fucked ass. Fenris leaned over to whisper in his ear, “ _Mine_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blushes* *can't look anyone in the eye*


	11. The Shattered Lantern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up that the canon timeline will be diverging slightly from this point on to follow the emotional arc of the story. So although this is set in Act 3, Act 2 stuff will be making an appearance. Sorry for any confusion!
> 
> Also... thank you all for the wonderful comments on the filth of the last chapter - I will continue to write smut drunk as it seems to yield positive results. ;)

The second he stepped off the lift, Fenris noticed something felt off about Darktown. The regular discordant buzz of refugees and criminals was missing, and the winding pathways were empty as people hid behind whatever meager shelter they had. 

He gave a low whistle and one of the ubiquitous urchins that haunted the undercity appeared silently at his side. 

“What is going on?” Fenris asked quietly.

“Templars, serah,” the child said promptly. “Looking for the healer.”

Fenris nodded, then tossed him a copper, a pang in his heart for the big hungry eyes that dominated the waif’s dirty face.

He knew the Templars often raided Darktown looking for Anders, frustrated that the apostate had been kept out of their reach by a combination of Hawke's noble connections, Aveline's control of the guard patrol, and Varric's sway with the Carta.

He padded forward, nimbly dodging piles of refuse as he headed towards the clinic. It was unlikely that Anders had been caught - the healer had an uncanny knack for evading Templars - but he should still check on him.

Fenris heard the Templars before he even caught sight of the open door to Anders’ clinic. It was a wonder they caught any apostates at all with the raucous clanging of their armor echoing everywhere. As he got closer, he could see that much of the noise was due to the needless destruction of the mage’s healing supplies.

He flinched when a flask of elfroot potion shattered on the ground, thrown carelessly by one of the Templars. He was well acquainted with the expense of such potions, and how vital they were for Anders’ healing practice.

The Templars were so focused on their vicious destruction that it took them a moment to realize that an elf had soundlessly appeared in their midst.

A man with red hair and impressively ugly sideburns gave a shout of surprise and drew his sword.

“Now, now, Ser Mettin, calm yourself,” one of the Templars said mildly, an underlying menace tinging the tone of his words. Fenris could tell at a glance that this was the leader.

The Templar came closer, studying Fenris with ice-blue eyes. The elf met his regard without blinking, stance ready but unruffled. Fenris’ intuition, honed by years of slavery, told him that this was a man that enjoyed hurting people. He thought of the scars on Anders’ back and felt a surge of hatred for this Templar, this corrupt man who would abuse his power against those in his care.

“And who might you be?” the Templar asked, the inflection clearly meant to intimidate.

“What is the purpose of breaking everything?” Fenris responded, tilting his head and deliberately ignoring the question. This Templar was out of his depth if he thought he had the ability to frighten Fenris with a harsh tone and ostentatious armor. 

“None of your business, elf,” a hard-faced man snapped from the corner of the room. “We have a right to do whatever it takes when apprehending maleficar.”

“One would think that such non-magical supplies would be useful,” Fenris commented coolly, sharp eyes assessing the position and mood of each of the Templars. “Is it not the duty of the Chantry to help the faithful?”

“You filthy knife-ear,” Ser Mettin snarled. The Templar leader raised his hand for silence. “But Ser Alrik - ” Ser Alrik turned and gave the junior knight a furious glare and he subsided.

Fenris had not reacted to the slur, still watching Ser Alrik with a mounting disdain for the hypocrisy of these Templars.

When Ser Alrik turned back to the elf, he was notably affected, fury flashing in those icy eyes. 

“Do you know of the apostate healer?” he asked irritably, puffing himself up. Fenris wasn’t afraid of him at all, and he could tell the knight not only noticed, but that it made him angry. 

Fenris didn’t bother answering, just leaned against the doorway and watched. If Alrik wanted to push this confrontation he was welcome to. The elf already knew that he could win this fight, Templars were used to fighting mages weakened by their smites. A warrior with his speed would cut through their clumsy armor in mere heartbeats. If these feeble men wanted to be the latest set of bodies that mysteriously disappeared in Darktown, he would feel no guilt making it so. He almost wished they would be foolish, so he’d have an excuse to end this threat to Anders.

Something in his demeanor must have conveyed his confidence because Alrik blanched. Fenris barely kept a sneer off his face. This waste of a human had no trouble trying to corner Anders with four other men, confident in the knowledge that his abilities would render the mage helpless. Yet the moment he faced a real threat, he crumpled like the coward he was.

“Come men,” he barked. “We’ll find the little apostate rat in the sewers.”

The Templars clanked past, glaring at Fenris with varying degrees of venom. He waited until the distinctive sound was no longer reverberating through the twisted corridors of Darktown before he straightened.

He headed directly for the basement entrance to the Amell estate, guessing that he would find Anders there. By the time he arrived, Anders was already leaving, surrounded by refugees assuring him that the Templars had moved on.

“Fen,” Anders said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

The warrior didn’t answer, looking warily at the small circle of people that surrounded the mage. Anders followed his eyes and seemed to understand, quietly thanking people and sending them on their way before heading to the clinic in silence. Fenris fell in next to him, automatically on the lookout for threats.

Anders closed the door to his clinic, a rueful eye for the shattered lantern, then turned to Fenris. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern in his voice.

The elf snorted. Of course Anders could stand in the middle of the wreckage of what was once his clinic and ask after someone else’s well-being. The mage’s compassion never ceased to amaze him.

“I am fine, mage,” he said. “I just...wanted to see you.”

Anders gave him a small smile and tentatively stepped closer.

“Is that so?” the mage asked flirtily. “Well, I should tell you that I ate today. A full meal, and you didn’t even have to feed it to me yourself.”

Fenris couldn’t help but grin at the mage’s tone, before stepping forward and tangling his fingers in Anders’ hair. A shiver of heat went through him at the low gasp he earned when he yanked the mage’s head back to bare his throat. The warrior chuckled, low and dangerous. The way the mage responded to him was a thing of pure beauty. He cupped Anders’ face and smoothed his thumbs across the angled cheekbones, then took his mage’s mouth ruthlessly. A deal was a deal, after all.

Fenris allowed himself a few minutes of heated kisses, Anders melting into him and making delicious noises. Eventually he reluctantly pulled away, heart thundering. 

“Your clinic requires your attention,” he reminded Anders, watching with amusement as the mage visibly fought to regain control. Eventually he sighed and looked around.

“You’re right,” he said resignedly. “Sodding Templars. Although...” Anders frowned and took in the debris around him. “It’s not nearly as bad as it usually is. They didn’t even break my cot! And I still have a few potions…” his voice trailed off as he began to take stock of the damage with a look of confusion on his face.

Fenris said nothing. He found a crate in the corner that was mostly intact and started to fill it with some of the rubble that was clearly not salvageable. 

“By now, you must see what an injustice the Templars are,” Anders said. He had found a broom and was beginning to clean up the broken glass that was scattered across the floor.

Fenris felt his body freeze. At his silence, Anders looked up and took in his expression.

“You can’t be serious,” he said, standing up and dropping the broom in shock. “You can’t honestly still think that the Templars are justified? You must - ”

“Must I?” Fenris said sharply, increasingly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going.

“How can you say that?” Anders said, voice trembling. “How can you stand here, in what used to be a functioning clinic for the poor, and agree with what they do?”

Fenris ducked his head. “Anders...”

He felt trapped. This was why he had fought his attraction to the mage so strongly. It was difficult to reconcile how he felt about Anders with how he felt about magic and mages in general. This argument had come between them for years, and until recently they had never been able to bridge the divide. Fenris wanted nothing more than to avoid it, fearing that this quarrel would be the one to break the tentative trust that had grown between them.

“I do not agree with these Templars and what they have done,” he said, averting his eyes from the pain and anger that was radiating off Anders in waves. “You have shown me that the Circle is flawed and reform is needed. But I cannot agree with its complete abolition. The Chantry is trying to control what it has every reason to fear. Mages with no limit to their power would face great temptation to abuse that power.”

“No, _no_ ,” the mage yelled, stalking forward into the elf’s space. “Does the freedom of innocent mages mean nothing to you? Do _I_ mean nothing to you? We aren't _born_ evil Fenris! How can you justify punishing people for what they _might_ do!?”

Fenris winced, each word hitting him like stones. He didn’t know how to articulate his feelings to the furious man in front of him, he didn’t even know how to untangle them for himself. Anders had become important to him, and he had no experience at all in how to deal with that.

“I will not allow the Templars to take you,” he said instead, which was the only truth he felt absolutely sure of. He would fight every Templar in Thedas for Anders, but he also would not exchange one mage controlling his every opinion for another. 

“So all of the other mages can suffer - but not _your_ mage, is that it?” Anders said angrily, moving away from him and pacing the clinic. 

The simple answer to that question was yes, but Fenris’ feelings on the subject had grown more complicated. It used to be much easier to close his eyes when he had been shielded by the hatred planted by the evils of slavery in Tevinter. 

“I don’t trust mages,” Fenris said steadily. “But I do trust you.” He couldn’t pinpoint the moment that had happened. Was it the moment the mage brought him apples? When he tasted his lips for the first time? When he saw the evidence of abuse the mage had suffered with his own eyes? All of their experiences had been woven together, and somehow he now trusted this man more than he had ever trusted anyone. 

This brought Anders up short - stopping his frenetic pacing. He drifted back towards Fenris. The elf resisted the urge to touch him, to hold him close. He sensed the mage wasn’t ready for that, so he kept his clenched hands to himself.

“Fenris,” Anders said pleadingly. “Why must you be so stubborn!? You have to see - ”

“I am no longer a slave, mage,” Fenris snapped, at his limit. 

“Fenris!” the mage gasped, a look of confusion and hurt blooming on his face. “That’s not - I would never - ”

“You do not get to decide what I feel and how I think, Anders,” Fenris said, every word weighted with the pain of the years he’d spent in forced silence, an agreeable shadow.

Anders stared at him, his beautiful amber eyes filled with horror.

“I never - ” the mage whispered. “I don’t want that, Fenris.”

“I’m trying,” Fenris said, his voice shaded with the desperation he felt. Since the death of Danarius he had been lost, and Anders was his only anchor. He could admit that things in the south were more complex than he had thought but that didn't mean he could throw away all that he had seen and experienced. Not even for Anders could he do that.

“I know,” Anders said softly. He stepped forward, yet again in the elf’s personal space, but this time it felt like he was there with him, instead of against him. Fenris gave in to temptation, pulling the mage against him again. He never felt more right than when the mage was pressed against him, when he could smell the scent of elfroot and magic and feel the silk of Anders’ skin.

Anders wrapped him in comforting arms.

“I know you’re trying,” the mage murmured. “I will...I want that to be enough...”

Fenris felt his ears twitch. Suddenly he needed to taste the mage more than he needed air and he cupped his face and kissed him, trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words. He had been damaged by magic - almost beyond repair - but for this one man he wanted to let go of his anger and fear and hate and finally be happy. 

Anders gasped and opened his lips for him, and Fenris drank deep for a few breathless moments before ending the kiss to just hold the mage close. Anders leaned against him, and Fenris felt a shiver down his spine when Anders looked at him and admitted through his eyelashes, “I trust you, too.” 

They broke apart at a knock at the door, a Carta dwarf sticking his head into the clinic.

“Oi, healer,” the dwarf grunted. “We’re here for the clean-up.”

“Yes, thank you,” Anders said, smiling at the rough-looking dwarf.

Fenris watched curiously as a handful of dwarves in the distinctive Carta leathers came in and began hoisting broken furniture and taking it away. Anders caught Fenris’ expression and grinned at him. 

“Courtesy of Varric,” the mage said. “I’ll have new furniture by the end of the day.”

Fenris huffed and shook his head disbelievingly. Only Anders would run an illegal clinic where the most notorious gang in Kirkwall did his cleaning for him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked into Anders’ eyes. The healer gave Fenris a gentle smile while he squeezed his shoulder and he smiled back with tentative hope. He knew that they hadn’t reached the end of this disagreement. Magic was too raw of a subject for both of them, it would come between them again. But maybe they had found a starting point, a place where they could stand together. 

His thoughts turned to the cruel look he’d seen in Ser Alrik’s eyes and he vowed to himself that he would bathe Kirkwall’s streets in the blood of Templars before he ever lost Anders to the Circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank GirlNamedJack for her patience in dealing with me while writing this chapter. It was a hellscape of writer's block and she basically kept me from a complete meltdown. She's the best!


	12. Life Under the Sky

Anders huffed in annoyance and called yet another firestorm. While he usually enjoyed setting things on fire, he had to admit the novelty had worn off - this neverending wave of Carta dwarves seemed like they had lost their blighted minds. At first he had felt bad for killing them when they were obviously possessed - or _something_ \- but his sympathy had quickly burned away. If he heard another crazy dwarf screaming about “the Hawke” or “Corypheus,” he was going to lose it himself.

This crowd of enemies was thankfully wrapping up, unable to stand against Hawke’s well-practiced group of fighters. Anders caught a glimpse of Fenris phasing through a group of dwarves and arcing his sword to take down several at once. The elven warrior was snarling and covered in blood and Anders had to fight off a dreamy sigh.

Of _course_ it was the sodding Deep Roads that would pull them from Kirkwall just as he and Fenris had found some equilibrium in their relationship. Anders would much rather be cuddled into Fenris’ surprisingly comfortable bed than fighting a horde of maniacal dwarves.

A dwarven assassin leapt out at him from the side, only to be confounded when his daggers rebounded off Anders’ barrier. Anders snorted and hit the rogue with lightning, taking him out quickly. His eyes passed over the battlefield for another opponent, but they were all down.

“Does anyone need healing?” he called out, and Aveline and Isabela came over to him with minor slash wounds. 

“This place gives me the shivers,” the pirate said as he healed a gash in her arm. 

Anders snickered.

“Which part?” he asked. “The insane dwarves intent on killing us all to steal Hawke’s blood, or the general ambience of taint and darkspawn?”

“Do I have to choose?” Isabela said with a smile and wink before sashaying back to her looting. 

Hawke was searching the bodies with fierce precision, his normally cheerful expression hardened. Anders knew that it couldn’t have been easy to hear the dwarves talking about him as the child of Malcolm Hawke - and the healer had flinched in sympathy when one of the dwarves had taunted him for being the only member of the Hawke family left. 

Though the rogue didn’t talk about it, and though he laughed and smiled his way through their adventures, Anders knew the loss of his family weighed on Hawke deeply. In the past he had tried to comfort his friend, but Hawke had brushed away his every attempt. All Anders had been able to do was stay by his side and hope that would be enough. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a pained cry from Hawke. The dwarf he had been searching was - was _glowing._

“I can feel it inside me,” Hawke said with worried confusion, holding a dagger in his hand, waves of power radiating off both the rogue and the weapon in his hand. Fenris growled a little, eyeing the magical display with distaste.

Anders could feel the wrongness of the magic, the familiar feel of evil that he associated with blood magic. He instinctively looked for Merrill, who was tilting her head in her bird-like way and studying the flowing power with interest.

“That draws on your blood, Hawke. There are dangerous magics here,” Anders warned, just as the waves of power seemed to settle, and the dagger looked normal once again.

“This is going to lead me to Corypheus,” Hawke said grimly, moving to strap the dagger to his back.

“Does nobody else remember the last time we found a weird, glowy artifact in the Deep Roads?” Varric said, real concern under his snarky tone. “Because that didn’t exactly end well for any of us.”

“May I see?” Merrill said, moving forward and looking up at Hawke. He handed the dagger to her with only a brief hesitation. Anders winced. He trusted Merrill with some things. He trusted her to have good intentions, and to have his back in a fight. But Merrill also wasn’t careful, and her blithe assurances about blood magic made him more than a little uneasy. Still, if anyone was going to be able to learn anything about the dagger, it would be the blood mage.

She examined the weapon with a keen curiosity, occasionally feeding it magic and humming under her breath. Finally, the little elf sighed with disappointment and handed the blade back to Hawke.

“Oh dear,” she said forlornly. “The dagger is bound to you, Hawke. This is a very powerful spell, one I cannot break. Ir abelas, lethallin.”

“We should move on,” Aveline said firmly. “The quicker we deal with this Corypheus, the quicker we can be out of this place.”

Anders privately agreed. Already the taint of darkspawn was getting to him, the itch in his mind making him feel unclean and edgy. He inched closer to Fenris, the elf’s presence calming his frayed nerves. Hawke nodded his agreement with Aveline, and with that, the group continued. 

At the sight of a huge underground tower in the middle of the Deep Roads, Anders couldn’t hold back a gasp.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, marveling at the sheer immensity of it all.

“I could stand to see less underground wonders and more sky, personally,” Varric grumbled.

Anders felt the Grey Warden’s taint before he saw the hunched man scuttling out to stop their party. His eyes were filmed over, hair falling out in clumps. Anders almost gagged when his healing senses reacted to the overwhelming corruption running through the man’s veins. 

“Someone needs to work on their moisturizing routine,” Isabela whispered to him in a low aside. Anders fought off a laugh. There was no one better than Isabela for making hilariously inappropriate comments in the midst of tense situations.

Anders’ attention was drawn from the disturbing stranger by a whisper curling through his consciousness. He shook his head irritably, trying to hear the faint voice more clearly. He listened intently, his body tense. He could vaguely hear Hawke’s conversation with the tainted Warden, but his regular senses seemed dulled as he strained to understand the murmur in his mind. The whisper was tantalizingly close yet also far away. He couldn’t make out individual words, just a sense that he should be doing something, going somewhere.

 **“Do not listen, Anders. I do not know who this voice belongs to, but it feels evil,”** Justice said, momentarily drowning out the whispering. Anders covered his ears in a fruitless attempt to block out the warring voices in his head.

“Mage?”

Anders opened his eyes and met Fenris’ gaze, the elf’s green eyes worried. 

“I’m okay,” he told Fenris, dropping his hands and trying to look as if that was the truth. The last thing he needed was for the warrior to find out he had yet another voice in his head. He still cringed to think about how he’d tried to force Fenris into agreeing with him about mages, completely insensitive to the former slave’s feelings on the subject. They had yet to discuss Justice, but he knew at the very best Fenris was likely still wary of the spirit. 

Fenris studied him, the concerned look on his face remaining despite Anders’ words.

“We are moving on,” Fenris said finally. “Be ready to fight.”

Anders nodded, attempting to ignore the alluring voice and the way it was affecting him.

The next few hours passed in a haze. Anders fought by rote, the familiar routine of healing his friends and throwing fireballs barely distracting him from trying to puzzle out the whispers. The voice was growing stronger every step they took deeper into the tower, and Anders felt like he was closer and closer to understanding what it was asking of him. 

Justice was agitated, begging Anders to ignore the whispering. Between the call of the voice and Justice’s reaction, Anders felt like his head was splitting in two.

“I’m not listening, I’m not _listening_ ,” he said fiercely, unaware he had spoken out loud until he felt a hand on his elbow. Fenris looked at him intently. Anders felt a wave of relief from Justice as the lyrium sang to him, soothing both the spirit and the mage.

“What is wrong, Anders?” the elf asked, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

“N-nothing,” Anders stammered. “Just, the Deep Roads, you know.” He knew it was a feeble excuse.

“Hawke,” Fenris called out, eyes not moving from Anders’ face. “We need to stop.”

Hawke halted from his spot up front with Aveline and Isabela. He joined them, shooting Fenris a questioning glance.

“Fenris?” Hawke asked. The elf finally looked away from Anders and turned to Hawke.

“We’ve been fighting ceaselessly for hours. It is unlikely we will make it through the rest of the locks today, and even if we could we should rest before facing Corypheus,” Fenris said.

Hawke nodded thoughtfully, scrutinizing both Anders and Fenris. The mage tried to look robustly sane and not like he was about to fall apart at any second.

“Alright,” the rogue said. Then more loudly for the benefit of the rest of the group, “Let’s make camp.”

Varric found them a decent spot, and soon they had settled in for the night. Hawke decided to risk a fire, both for the light and heat as well as morale. Anders stuck close to Fenris, allowing the elf to quietly direct him as he fought to disregard the calling that was fogging his every thought.

“I am getting truly sick of looking at stalagmites. Or are they stalactites? Shit, I don't know,” Varric said, leaning against the stone and keeping watch with Bianca at the ready, while the rest of the companions found places around the fire.

Anders stared into the flames, fighting panic. What if he was losing his mind? What if he was losing himself? Every year with Justice left him less and less sure that his thoughts were wholly his own, every year Justice pushed him further and further from the man he used to be. He looked at Fenris out of the corner of his eye. Fenris had always scoffed at Anders’ insistence that he was not an abomination, that he was in control, that Justice was a spirit and not a demon. What if Fenris had been right along and Anders was nothing but a danger, to himself and to others? What if he was nothing but a weak man with handful of feeble excuses?

“Time for drinking games,” Isabela said enthusiastically, clapping her hands together and making Anders jump. A chorus of groans met her pronouncement, Aveline in particular shaking her head vehemently.

“The last thing we need is to be drunkenly fighting off darkspawn, Bela,” Hawke said, laughing at the pout on the pirate’s face.

“None of you are any fun,” Isabela said huffily. “Well, we can’t play Wicked Grace so…” Suddenly she straightened with a mischievous smile. “I know! We can play ‘Would You Rather’!”

“Oooh, that sounds like such fun,” Merrill said earnestly. “What is it?”

“I’ll show you, kitten. Just watch,” Isabela said breezily, looking around the circle of friends until her eyes landed on Anders, who had been gazing off into the distance and barely following the conversation.

“Anders! Would you rather… make out with Knight-Commander Meredith or lick the floor of Darktown?” 

“Uhhhhhh,” Anders said, completely unprepared and distracted by both his grim thoughts and the unknown voice calling him. He forced himself to focus. “Lick the floor of Darktown?”

Even Aveline laughed at that. Anders felt himself relaxing somewhat, the mirth of his friends and the easy presence of Fenris at his side helping ground himself in the here and now.

“It’s your turn, Anders,” Isabela said encouragingly.

He shook his head. “I can’t think of anything, someone take my turn.”

Fenris, who had been quiet thus far, spoke up in his rich voice. “Isabela. Would you rather give up sex?” he paused. “Or the sea?”

This caused a mild uproar as everyone took that in and general merriment at the expression on Isabela’s face. 

“That’s a good one, Broody,” Varric said laughing wildly. “Well, what say you, Rivaini?”

Isabela sighed, her face uncharacteristically wistful.

“Sex,” she said. “There’s nothing like living your life under the sky, with nothing between you and the horizon. The salt, the wind, the freedom. I could never give up the sea.”

A hush settled over the group, broken when Merrill leaned against the pirate. “Oh Isabela,” she said tremulously. “That was beautiful.”

Isabela threw her arms around the little elf and hugged her close, kissing her cheek with affection. “Thank you, kitten.” 

Hawke spoke up, his voice sly. “Fenris. Never drink wine again? Or kiss Anders?” 

Anders snapped to attention at that, pulled back from staring vaguely towards where the whispering had been tugging at him. He blushed, not looking at Fenris. He knew the rest of them had no idea how dramatically the relationship between he and Fenris had shifted. As far as his friends knew, Fenris still hated him, still couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him. He was a bit surprised at Hawke, though, it was a meaner question than he would’ve expected out of the rogue.

There was a loaded silence, until finally he couldn’t take it anymore and he peeked at Fenris, who was looking directly at him.

“Kiss Anders,” the elf said softly, the words oddly weighted. Anders blushed again as his friends began laughing, teasing Fenris about how much he must love his wine. The elf said nothing, his eyes still on Anders.

The game continued around them, Aveline asking Varric to choose between giving up Bianca and living in Orzammar for the rest of his life, but Anders couldn’t look away from Fenris. The murmuring in his mind fell away for a few breathless seconds as he fell into the elf’s beautiful eyes. His heart was racing, and it took all of his willpower not to reach out for Fenris, to slide into his arms and stay there.

Fenris’ voice cut through the chatter around them, just for him.

“You must rest, mage,” the warrior said.

“I don’t sleep in the Deep Roads,” Anders said hoarsely. “The nightmares…”

“I will guard your sleep,” Fenris said quietly, sounding so sure that Anders wanted to believe him, wanted to think that he could let go and Fenris would catch him.

Wordlessly he lay down on his side, his body curled, and tugged his bedroll up to cover himself. Fenris shifted closer, and Anders could feel the heat of him against his skin, the warrior’s solid presence soaking into him. His eyes fluttered closed, and for the first time in years, he almost felt... safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun thinking up Would You Rather situations for the DA2 crew! I only got to use a few of them... maybe the game will crop up again as a terrible excuse to use more!


	13. A Capable Warrior

Fenris was worried. Something was wrong with Anders and it was only getting worse. Nobody had enjoyed sleeping in the Deep Roads, but the mage had whimpered through the scant few hours of rest they had taken. Fenris had stayed awake, occasionally soothing the former Warden’s nightmares with one hand stroking through his golden hair, but the break had not helped as much as Fenris had hoped it would.

Anders had taken to muttering under his breath, and his eyes were always roaming the distance, like he was hearing something that no one else could. Every once in awhile he would shake his head, as if he were trying to shake something loose. His fighting was getting less and less precise, barriers dropping several seconds too late, firestorms blooming in places where there were no darkspawn. 

Fenris wasn’t the only one to notice. Hawke was glued to the mage’s side, keeping a close eye on him during each battle, when Hawke was usually in the fray at the front with the warriors. More than once, the rogue had protected a distracted Anders from enemies the mage didn’t even seem aware of.

The others were determinedly keeping up cheerful banter to draw Anders out of his mood whenever possible. Isabela was especially good at coaxing a weak laugh from Anders before he would inevitably slump back into his eerie behavior.

Fenris felt helpless. It was hard to determine whether the problem was connected to Justice, or the Grey Wardens, or something entirely new. Every time he questioned the mage, he just got vague reassurances that everything was fine, which was incredibly frustrating. Everything was clearly not fine, but Fenris had no idea how fix it, or even get Anders to tell him what was happening. It bothered him that the mage obviously didn’t trust him with the truth.

The only solution that Fenris could see was to get through this accursed tower as soon as possible so they could deal with Corypheus and get the mage back aboveground. Until then, he did what he could, which was watch for threats to the mage and try and stay with him as much as possible. The warrior had already noticed that Anders seemed to relax in his presence, especially if his tattoos were lit.

“Cheer up Fenris! This isn’t so bad,” Merrill chirped from next to him, startling him from his brooding. The witch looked as tired as the rest of them but was still stubbornly trying to see the bright side.

“We’re in a black pit of evil,” Fenris said irritably. “How can you imagine this ‘isn't so bad?’”

“It's not going to rain. And there's almost no chance of being attacked by bears!” Merrill said, her enthusiasm barely dimmed by his prickly response.

Fenris gazed at her in disbelief. Who wouldn’t prefer rain and bears over darkspawn? 

They were traipsing across an unhealthy looking mire when it happened. Anders let out a cry of fear and pain and dropped to his knees, hands covering his ears.

“Stop! Just make him stop talking! Make him stop!” the mage wept, seemingly unaware of the rest of them.

“We can't have him fall apart here, it's not safe,” Aveline said, looking extremely worried.

Fenris ignored her, crouching in front of Anders and taking the mage’s face in his hands.

“Anders,” he said urgently. “Look at me.”

“Fen,” Anders sobbed, reaching out for the elf. “I can’t keep him out, he’s everywhere.” Blue cracks were flickering through the mage’s skin, betraying how close Anders was to losing control completely.

“Who?” Fenris asked, dread heavy in his stomach.

“I think… I think it’s Corypheus,” Anders answered, clearly terrified by the idea. 

Without a second’s hesitation Fenris hauled Anders against him, holding him tightly. He stroked his hands firmly down the mage’s spine, in the caress he knew soothed him. Anders shuddered in his arms, hands firmly gripping the elf’s shoulders as he fought to hold on. Fenris leaned back and looked into Anders’ eyes, which were still brown but filled with panic.

“Look at me, amatus,” he said calmly, continuing to rub the mage’s back. “Look at me. Everything is going to be okay. Corypheus will not control you. You can do this.” 

“What if I can’t?” Anders whispered, looking at Fenris helplessly.

“You can,” Fenris said, not allowing any of his doubt to show in his voice.

“Justice,” Anders whimpered, pain on his face as he fought to keep control. “Justice is so angry, Fenris. He’s panicking.”

“Let me talk to him,” Fenris said grimly, shoving his fear away. The thought of conversing with a demon made his skin crawl, but if it helped Anders, he would do it. The mage looked shocked, the flickering blue becoming even more intense.

“Anders,” Fenris said. “They are tearing your mind apart. I will talk to Justice, calm him.”

The mage whimpered, and then from one moment to the next, he was gone and Justice was in his place. The demon stood, pushing himself from Fenris’ arms with an unnatural power.

 **“I will not be controlled,”** Justice roared, agitation pouring off him in waves. 

Fenris lit his tattoos and stepped in front of the fade spirit. He kept his demeanor calm through sheer willpower, not wanting to betray any of the horror he was feeling. The reaction from the creature was immediate, his attention focusing on Fenris and the glowing lyrium of his skin. Fenris had begun to suspect that Justice was drawn to the lyrium song, and here was confirmation.

“Justice,” he said, making his voice as strong and steady as possible. “Do you know who I am?”

 **“You are the elf that Anders loves,”** Justice said, calmer now that his attention wasn’t solely on fighting the influence of Corypheus. **“The one that sings of home.”**

Fenris fought his reaction to that, pushing the rush of feelings to the side for later.

“You are in the Deep Roads, Justice,” he responded evenly. “And you are hurting Anders.”

 **“I am protecting Anders!”** Justice bellowed, anger in every word. **“I fight the call of the evil one. I will keep Anders safe from him.”**

“You are destroying his mind,” Fenris countered sternly. “He cannot handle both of you at once. You must withdraw, and let him fight Corypheus himself. He is strong enough to do so.”

He held his breath, watching the demon carefully to see if his words had any effect. Justice was still, eyes fixed on Fenris as he considered the elf’s words.

 **“You have proven yourself to be a capable warrior,”** Justice said finally. **“And I have fought beside you in the pursuit of justice. If you swear to protect Anders… I will cease to struggle against the calling.”**

“I will protect him. I will not allow the evil one to harm him. I swear it,” Fenris vowed, meaning every word. 

Justice nodded, once. Then the blue was receding, and Anders collapsed. Fenris was in motion immediately, catching the mage before he fell and lowering him to the ground gently. 

“Anders,” he said softly. The mage’s eyes flickered, then opened, brown eyes gazing up at Fenris. The relief the elf felt was overwhelming, and he took a full breath for the first time since Justice had manifested.

“Fen,” Anders murmured, sitting up and putting his hand to his head. “What did you do? Justice is… quiet. I can still feel Corypheus, but it’s not nearly as overwhelming.”

“Justice and I… had a discussion,” Fenris said wryly, standing and helping Anders to his feet. He kept an arm wrapped possessively around the mage’s waist to keep him steady.

“Maker,” Anders said, sounding tired but clear. “That’s much better. But when we find this Corypheus, I’m going to light that bastard on fire.”

Fenris huffed a laugh. “I would expect nothing less, mage.” 

Hawke cleared his throat pointedly, and Fenris started. He turned to see the entire group staring at them with varying degrees of shock and in Isabela’s case, glee. The pirate was bouncing on her heels, both hands clenched over her mouth in an apparent attempt to keep silent while Anders was recovering. Hawke was the only one who didn’t seem surprised, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

Fenris’ ears flushed, and he fought the urge drop the mage in the face of the wide-eyed scrutiny of their friends. He had honestly forgotten they were there. The moment Anders had lost control, Fenris’ concentration had narrowed to taking care of his mage and the rest of the world had fallen completely away.

“Uhhhhhhhh,” Anders said, obviously at a loss. And just like that, the silence was broken, and suddenly the entire group was exclaiming and talking over each other.

“Shit, elf,” Varric said. “That was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. You standing there facing down an angry fade spirit all by yourself.” His eyes were already glazing over, a sure sign that he was writing stories in his head.

Merrill was looking at the pair of them, starry-eyed and eager. “Oh this is just wonderful,” she gushed. “I would never have guessed!”

Isabela practically teleported to Anders’ side. “You have to tell me _everything!_ ” she said with elation. “Just _everything_. Does he growl at you in bed? Oooooh if he growled at me in that voice I would just be in a puddle at his feet!” She drew Anders away, hooking her arm through his elbow and talking a mile a minute.

Fenris stood frozen in his tracks and completely overwhelmed with the attention until Hawke jostled Fenris with his elbow, jarring him back to coherence.

“Breathe, Fenris,” the rogue said, grinning.

“Might we move on now?” Aveline grumbled. “Or shall we stand here discussing Fenris’ love life until the darkspawn kill us all?”

The elf scowled at the guardswoman. As if he wanted to discuss this with her or anyone else.

“Yes, onwards,” Hawke said. “I believe the new plan is to set Corypheus on fire, and I fully support it.” With that he strode forward, still stifling his laughter. Fenris followed, ears twitching with discomfort.

Ahead of them, Isabela was still going in full force.

“Have you oiled him up?” she asked Anders, who looked equal parts amused and horrified. “I can just picture all that tattooed skin… glistening.”

Hawke caught up with the pair of them and without pausing, scooped Isabela up and over his shoulder, the pirate still sighing dreamily as he carried her away.

“What about the magical fisting thing?” she called back at Anders from her perch atop Hawke, completely undeterred. “You know…” She made a lewd hand gesture, leaving nobody in doubt of what she was implying. 

Anders groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Andraste’s pearly bosom,” he lamented. “This is why we didn’t tell anyone.”

“Well, the broody death elf is definitely out of the bag, Blondie,” Varric said cheerfully, keeping up with Hawke’s swift pace easily.

“Careful, dwarf,” Fenris said grumpily. Anders shot him an apologetic look over his shoulder. Fenris just sighed resignedly and shrugged at him. It was done, and the warrior would do it again. There was nothing to do now but keep going.

Hours later they had fought their way to Corypheus through more darkspawn, Carta dwarves, and deluded wardens, culminating in Corypheus’ body smoldering at their feet. Anders had taken great pleasure in repeatedly hurling fireballs at the twisted mage’s face and after a long and vicious fight he had finally been defeated.

“He didn’t even say ‘muahahahaha’,” Hawke said mournfully. “What kind of ancient evil magister darkspawn doesn’t say ‘muahahahaha’ at least once?”

“Definitely disappointing,” Varric agreed, kicking at the remains. “I did enjoy some of his evil monologuing though. It was suitably grandiose and utterly insane, just what I like in villainous speeches.”

Fenris let the two rogues banter, leaning on his sword and catching his breath. He had been utterly unsurprised to find out the story of magisters blackening the Golden City was true. Thousands of years hadn’t changed the character of magisters at all, they would still stop at nothing to gain themselves power.

He looked to Anders, who was biting his lip and looking troubled. Fenris knew it had been quite a blow to the mage to hear that at least some of the Chantry’s teachings about magic was rooted in truth. It couldn’t be easy to face that your cause might not be as simple as you’d thought.

He moved to the mage’s side, and pulled him away from the group.

“How are you feeling?” Fenris asked, brushing his fingers against Anders’ hand in an attempt at comfort. Their encounter with Corypheus had reinforced his conviction that unfettered freedom for mages was a recipe for chaos, but he did not like to see Anders looking so lost.

Anders turned distressed eyes to him and sighed.

“I feel better without him in my head,” he admitted. “But… Fen… If the Chantry was right about the source of the blights… What if they’re right about other things?”

Fenris considered his response very carefully. He was drawn to the idea of the Maker, and he had also found comfort in many of the Chantry’s teachings, though his natural skepticism had kept him from worshipping in any organized fashion. He still did not agree with Anders' dream of an end to the Circle, but he respected and understood why Anders fought so hard to achieve it.

“The Chantry fears the power of mages,” he said finally. “Whether they do so because of what mages did thousands of years ago or what mages did yesterday, what matters is whether you agree with their response to that fear.”

Anders thought about that, brow furrowed.

“No,” he said. “I… understand why they are afraid. But their methods do nothing but cause more fear. And they justify abusing their power because of that fear.” Anders shook his head firmly, face clearing. “It is unjust,” he said softly to himself with a small smile on his face.

Turning his attention back to Fenris, the mage reached out and tentatively took the elf’s hand.

“Thank you,” Anders said quietly. “What you did, for Justice and I. For listening to me now.”

“You’re welcome,” Fenris said. He was still painfully aware of the others around them, so he did not give into the urge to wrap his arms around Anders and reassure himself that the mage was okay.

“You deserve better,” Anders said, bitterness in his words. “You should find someone else. You don't want all the ugliness I'm going to bring into your life.”

“We have discussed this before, Anders,” Fenris reminded him. “I am free to make my own decisions.”

Whatever answer Anders might have given was interrupted by a deafening shout from Isabela who was yelling “KISS!” at them through cupped hands. The mage blushed and rolled his eyes.

"I really need to stay out of the Deep Roads..." he said ruefully.

Fenris squeezed Anders' hand. “Then let’s go home, mage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isabela is the goddamn best.


	14. An Exquisite Agony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that Anders and Fenris are still engaging in under-negotiated kink.

Anders woke up disoriented, blinking his eyes as he took in his surroundings. He was in Fenris’ mansion, tucked into Fenris’ bed, though the elf was nowhere in sight. He sat up, dropping his head into his hands and trying to remember how he’d gotten here. Slowly, fuzzy details started come back to him. 

He had been in his clinic, healing on his third day without sleep when Fenris had showed up to try and convince the mage to take a break. Anders had resisted until the warrior had lost patience with his excuses and hauled him bodily out the door, slung over the elf’s shoulder. Lirene had simply laughed, that traitorous creature. 

Anders had protested the whole way to the Hawke estate, fists pounding uselessly against the elf’s back. Fenris had calmly ignored him, eventually dumping him in Hawke’s kitchen, where the combined bullying of both Fenris and Orana had ended with him begrudgingly eating several plates of food. The last thing he remembered was eating a fourth serving of some sort of spicy Tevene dish, and then nothing.

Anders groaned in frustration. He had no sense of what time it was, or even what day it was, though he could admit that he’d lost track of the days long before now. Ever since Fenris had accompanied Hawke on one of his trips to the Bone Pit, that sodding death trap, Anders had been distracting himself from the elf's absence with work. 

“You’re awake.”

Anders jerked in surprise as Fenris seemed to materialize from thin air, leaning against the door frame and studying him intently.

“Andraste’s tits,” he exclaimed. “I need to get you a blighted bell or something. You can’t keep popping out at me. My heart will give out.”

“No bells,” Fenris said drily. “Maybe I should whistle? Or wave my arms wildly so you actually use your eyes for once?”

Anders glared at the elf, Fenris smirking back at him unabashedly. 

“How do you feel, mage?” Fenris asked, amusement still heavy in his voice.

“Like I’ve been kidnapped,” Anders grumbled, refusing to admit that he was warm, well-rested, and not hungry for the first time in days. “I’m not a sodding child.”

“No, you’re not,” Fenris agreed. “You are entirely capable of taking care of yourself, Anders.”

Anders blinked in surprise. He had gotten used to Hawke sighing and bemoaning Anders’ tendency to forgo food and sleep with the general air that the mage needed a keeper of some kind.

“However,” Fenris continued. “Occasionally you need a reminder.”

“And this reminder comes in the form of you charging into my clinic and carrying me away like a swooning maiden in one of Varric’s terrible books?” Anders asked, lips quirking despite himself.

“No,” Fenris said steadily. “That’s what your punishment will be for.”

“My punish-what-now?” Anders squawked, sitting bolt upright and gaping at Fenris bemusedly. 

“Your punishment,” Fenris repeated, as calm as if they were discussing the weather.

A frisson of excitement climbed Anders’ spine.

“You can’t be serious,” he croaked, heart hammering. 

“Have you forgotten our deal, mage?” Fenris asked, tilting his head in inquiry. 

Anders just stared at him, eyes wide. 

“I-I didn’t realize - that was… real,” he stammered, swallowing nervously. 

Fenris stalked forward, his movements precise and predatory. Anders gulped and resisted his urge to run. The elf tipped his face up and gazed into his eyes.

“You don’t get the rewards and not the punishment, mage,” he murmured, somehow making the words unbearably sexy. Anders squirmed, the way Fenris was talking and looking at him so intently going straight to his cock. 

His mouth fell open, but he had no idea what to say, how to handle the situation he found himself in. He had some experience with sex’s sharper pleasures, but never with someone like Fenris, someone who could make his knees weak with the need to please, someone who seemed to reach deep into his darkest desires to drag them into the light.

Fenris smiled at whatever look was passing over his face, and Anders took a moment to curse his terrible Wicked Grace face before Fenris had his hands in his hair and was pulling his head back. Every time Fenris did this - and he did it quite often, truth be told - Anders felt it in every part of his body. Something about the way Fenris took control of him so effortlessly was intoxicating, leaving Anders panting with need.

“Go to the desk, mage,” Fenris said, his smokey voice doing all sorts of wonderful things to Anders’ insides, making his blood run hot and slow and warming his whole body. “Bend over it and place your hands flat.”

Anders shakily stood and made his way to the desk, knees so weak it made walking a challenge. He never even considered disobeying, his will totally subsumed by the desire to please Fenris. He bent over the desk with his heart thundering in his ears, the coolness of the desk contrasting sharply with the heat in his cheeks. He could feel Fenris behind him, but he couldn’t see him, and that very uncertainty made him feel very vulnerable. There was no reason why that should turn him on so much, but it did, his cock now fully hard and aching, as he waited for Fenris’ reaction to his submissive posture.

Fenris bent over him, his chest firmly pressed along Anders’ back as he whispered into the mage’s ear, “If I go too far, you must tell me. Otherwise I will give you what I think you deserve.” 

Anders shuddered, suddenly wanting to place his body solely in Fenris’ hands, to allow him to do with him what he wished. Fenris absolved him from his most basic decisions, stripping him down to a body bent over a desk, passively accepting whatever might happen to him.

He waited, for what like felt like ages but was probably only a minute or two, before he felt Fenris sliding his smalls down to his ankles. His whole body flushed in remembrance of the last time Fenris had removed his smalls, but the elf seemed content to leave them pooled at Anders’ feet, as he rucked up the mage’s robes, exposing his ass to the cool air of Fenris’ bedroom. Anders shivered, not sure what to anticipate but aching for something, something he wasn’t quite sure how to define.

He jumped when Fenris’ hand stroked over one of his ass cheeks, Fenris then shushing him and holding him down gently.

“Let go, Anders,” the elf said, his deep voice washing over Anders in waves, calming him and sending him further into himself.

Fenris seemed satisfied to just stroke his skin, and eventually Anders relaxed, soothed by the feeling of Fenris’ strong and capable hands sliding along his body.

The first slap against his ass came as a shock, even though Anders had known it was coming since Fenris had ordered him to bend over the desk. He felt the pain echoing through him, letting out a sharp yelp and shifting to the side, trying desperately to escape the hands that had dealt him such a stinging smack.

Fenris placed one palm on the small of his back, an anchor to hold onto as Anders reacted to another slap, this time on the opposite cheek. He was shying like a startled horse, trying to maintain his position on the desk, but still dancing from side to side as the blows came more and more frequently.

The fire blazed through him, racing along his skin with an exquisite agony. He sobbed out as Fenris methodically took him apart with every hit from his hand. Every time he thought he sensed a rhythm, it was disrupted, every inch of his backside throbbing with Fenris’ expert attentions.

There was a moment, a moment he missed until it was over, where he stopped fighting and just let go, let his body go slack. No longer did he try to avoid the strikes, instead he just relaxed into them, accepting them, taking them into himself. Soon he was gone, drooling onto the desk, ass red and mind beautifully empty. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to do, just to lay there and take it, accept his fate and embrace it.

He felt Fenris’ hands petting him again, agony fading away as the elf’s hands comforted his pain. He was so out of it that he didn’t even react when the chill of elfroot salve was rubbed into his skin, alleviating the stinging sensation that prickled along every inch of his aching ass.

“You are so beautiful like this,” Fenris said, his voice sounding very far away. 

A hand covered in oil suddenly caressed his erection, and he gasped, the feeling of intense pleasure the perfect counterpoint to the pain that was still embedded in his mind. He had forgotten his aching cock, but now he could think of nothing else, bucking into the feeling of the hand rubbing oil over his balls, then stroking his shaft. Clever fingers danced over his hole, and he jerked again, a spark of desire awakening amidst the overload of other sensations. 

He moaned, vaguely aware of how wanton he sounded as a finger eased itself into his body, followed quickly by another.

“That’s it, such a good boy,” Fenris purred, as the mage spread his legs wide, chasing the ecstasy those fingers were kindling in the very base of his spine. 

Anders sighed brokenly, bucking his hips against the sweet burn of the fingers that were methodically opening him. He was _good_ , he was safe like this, cradled in the security of Fenris’ dominance. The elf slid another finger into him, causing Anders to keen incoherently, trying desperately to tell the warrior that he needed more but not able to form the words. He was suddenly left empty, the fingers that had been filling him replaced with the blunt edge of Fenris’ beautiful cock.

“Please, please,” Anders cried, wanting to be fucked so badly that everything else fell away. 

“Perfect,” Fenris said, his voice a dark rumble. “Spread for me, begging for my cock, you’ve never been more perfect, Anders.”

The mage shuddered, pushing back against the cock perched so tantalizingly near his entrance. Fenris chuckled, and then Anders was letting out a long satisfied groan as he was gloriously filled, stretched around Fenris’ cock, feeling every inch in one slow stroke.

Then his world fell completely away, narrowed to the feeling of being fucked, as Fenris sped his pace and impaled him in deep, delicious thrusts. Fenris’ sharp hips slammed against his abused ass, adding an edge of pain to the blissful feeling of being taken so ruthlessly. He felt himself grunting with every rut of the elf’s hips, mixed with the sound of his constant begging for more, harder, _please Fenris, please -_

Fenris indulged him, pounding into the sobbing mage with brutal force. When the elf’s hand encircled Anders’ throbbing cock yet again, he simply fell apart, coming with one prolonged wail, body tensing against the desk.

Fenris drove into him with a final thrust and gasped as he filled the mage with his come, the heat causing Anders to quiver before he went completely limp. 

Through the haze of his afterglow, he could feel Fenris undressing him carefully and thoroughly, arms lifting up when the elf urged and his robes being tugged off him. When he was completely bare, the warrior lifted him with effortless strength and carried him to the bathing chamber, where a steaming hot bath was already prepared.

Anders sunk into scented water, every muscle spent and yielding. Fenris slid into the luxuriously sized bath behind him, pulling the mage to him and scrubbing every inch of his skin. 

While Fenris was lathering his hair he came back to himself enough to ask, “Why are you doing this?”

The elf paused for a moment.

“Because you are mine,” Fenris said quietly, fingers stroking Anders’ scalp soothingly.

Anders felt his eyes closing.

“Yours,” he agreed, relaxing against Fenris’ chest and just allowing the elf to take care of him.

“Why do you push yourself like this, Anders?” Fenris asked in low tones. “You more than anyone know how unhealthy it is to skip meals, to skip rest.”

Anders sighed.

“I know,” he murmured, wishing he could hold onto how he felt right now, completely at peace.

“Tip your head back,” Fenris ordered softly, and Anders obeyed, eyes squeezed shut against the warm water falling across his face as Fenris rinsed his hair thoroughly. 

The elf then began combing his wet hair back, strong fingers massaging away his ever present headache. Anders had almost forgotten what it was like to have his mind clear. Justice was sated and quiescent in the face of Fenris’ lyrium song, and Anders felt more like himself than he had in days. 

“It’s becoming… harder… to tell where I end and Justice begins,” he said, trying to hide how much that was beginning to scare him. “He doesn’t see the need for such mundane things as food and sleep.”

Fenris hummed thoughtfully at this.

“But with the mage underground shattered, and the manifesto going nowhere - we’re frustrated,” Anders continued. “There’s always more to do, but sometimes it feels like everything we are doing is pointless.”

“Yet it would be hard for him to pursue your cause if you collapse, mage,” the elf pointed out, moving his hands to Anders’ neck, gently working out knots of tension.

Anders huffed out a laugh.

“I am forced to agree,” he said. “But Justice sees things very… starkly. He can be hard to resist.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Anders making small noises of pleasure as Fenris’ hands shifted to ease his shoulders.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he moaned out, lost in the pleasant feeling.

Fenris’ hands tensed on his upper back.

“It was a part of my duties for Danarius,” the former slave said evenly, as Anders cringed. How could he have been so insensitive? It was perfectly obvious where Fenris would’ve learned the skill.

“I’m so sorry,” Anders said earnestly, twisting fully to face Fenris, on his knees between Fenris’ legs. The elf pushed a strand of his hair behind his ear, the oddly affectionate gesture causing Anders to sigh and lean into Fenris’ hand.

“You are not him,” Fenris said simply. “And you could never be him.”

Anders blinked, the words sinking into him and lodging in his heart. He leaned forward, sighing into the hollow of Fenris’ shoulder, feeling the elf’s arms wrap around him to hold him close.

“Yours,” he whispered, meaning it with everything he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never engage in impact play without a safeword, folks.
> 
> This chapter was almost called 'Punish-what-now!?' just because that made me laugh.


	15. Swooning is Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone commenting and leaving kudos. It has been keeping me going through some serious writer's block, and I truly appreciate each and every one of you. <3

_The last Templar standing cowered in fear, eyes wide as he watched the glowing elven warrior finish killing everyone else in the room, greatsword hewing through Templar bodies like they were made out of butter._

_“Please, please, don’t kill me,” the young knight begged as the unnatural elf stalked towards him, blood dripping from his greatsword, which he lifted to point right at the trembling Templar’s face._

_“I will ask you this once,” the elf growled. “If you do not answer my question, I will pull your spine out of your body and use it as a necklace.”_

_“I promise,” the Templar begged, snot dripping down his face. “Anything, I’ll tell you anything!”_

_“Where is my love?” the elf snarled. “The rebel mage they call Manders?”_

_“The captured apostate? He’s in the dungeons,” the Templar sniveled. “Are… are you going to kill me?”_

_The elven warrior’s pretty green eyes, so at odds with his aura of menace, bored into the hapless knight with devastating power._

_“That depends,” he said menacingly. “Have you touched what is mine?”_

_“No, serah elf, I promise!” the Templar said earnestly. “I didn’t even see him, I swear to Andraste!”_

_The elf assessed him, then spat on the ground with contempt before he turned to leave._

_“Who… who are you?” the Templar stammered._

_The elf turned back and pinned the knight in place with the force of his stare._

_“Dennis,” he answered, the lyrium tattoos covering his lanky body glowing with otherworldly power._  

*** * ***

Fenris found the foul serial while shopping for sword oil. He was perusing through the various stalls that sprung up during the day in the market at Lowtown, hoping to find more lyrium scales to improve his armor with.

Fenris had never shopped at the bookseller’s. Though a biography on Shartan wasn’t ideal material for a new reader just starting out, Fenris treasured the book and the memories of the hours studying it with Hawke. It was a point of pride for him whenever he finished a chapter, especially now that he no longer needed Hawke’s assistance.

Fenris went to pass by the books on display when a cover caught his eye, decorated with a muscled elf carrying a mage who looked suspiciously like Anders away from a tower on fire.

Frowning in confusion, Fenris snagged it from a stack of identical novels. The lurid cover was even more disturbing up close, as Fenris noticed that the elf had tattoos and white hair. He opened the book and started working his way through the first paragraph, growing more perplexed by the moment.

“I see you found Messere Tethras’ latest serial!” the bookseller interrupted, obviously sensing a sale.

Fenris looked up at the man, who was fixing him with a merchant’s smile.

“What - what is this?” he asked in bemusement.

“It’s a romance! Very popular with the ladies,” the bookseller said with a roguish wink he clearly thought was charming.

Fenris stared at him in silence until the man’s smile began to droop.

“If you want to read it you have to buy it,” he said briskly, losing patience with the taciturn elf currently glaring at him. Fenris tossed him a few coins and took the book with him, settling in to lean against a wall and puzzle out the story in peace.

It was clear by the end of the first couple pages that the muscled elf from the cover was supposed to be Fenris himself, though he generally tried to avoid casually slaughtering scores of Templars. He couldn’t help chuckling at the description of the mage fainting in his arms in overcome gratitude, knowing that would enrage Anders.

The elf’s brow furrowed as he reached an unfamiliar word. Remembering one of Hawke’s tricks, he began sounding it out to himself under his breath before standing bolt upright in alarm. He continued reading, every word contributing the dawning horror on his face.

“Fasta vass,” he swore angrily, before turning and heading straight towards a very particular dwarf whose lifespan should now be measured in mere minutes.

* * *

_“You shall not take him, elf,” Knight-Commander Mary shouted, her voice echoing with power as she hefted her sword, an evil sneer marring her face._

_“You shall not stand against me, feeble human,” Dennis responded, his voice the calm that heralded the storm, lifting his greatsword in challenge. “Nothing, not the Maker himself and certainly not you, will keep me from my love. I will tear this building down brick by brick and bury you with them.”_

_The Knight-Commander roared and rushed the elf, her sword swinging to remove his head from his shoulders. Dennis moved with the grace of a wolf, dodging her attack and swirling to deliver a blow to the knight’s unprotected side. Mary pivoted at the last second, blocking the strike._

_The clamor of dancing swords soon filled the Tower, the elf and the human locked in ferocious battle, as the stones themselves shook with the force of their skirmish._

_Finally, Dennis stood over his fallen nemesis, greatsword leveled at her heart. The Knight-Commander lay vanquished and bloody, staring up at the triumphant elf with hatred in her eyes._

_“Do it quickly,” she spat at him. “This changes nothing. You will soon pay for your sins against the Maker’s will.”_

_“It is not the Maker’s will you need fear, Knight-Commander,” Dennis said menacingly. “It is mine.”_

_The elf leaned gently on his greatsword, forcing a gasp from the conquered Templar as blood began to well up from where the sword was slowly piercing her chest._

_“You dared,” he hissed. “You dared to touch him, to frighten him, to harm him. And now I will take your heart and you will die drowning in blood.”_

_Mary began to laugh, teeth stained with her life’s blood, the chilling sound echoing in the narrow corridor._

_“I will go to the Maker’s side knowing I have done my duty,” she gurgled, her eyes insane._

_“Say hello for me,” Dennis said, smiling ferally as he twisted the sword and the Knight-Commander died at his feet, blood soaking into the stone of the accursed Tower._

* * *

Fenris flung open the door of The Hanged Man, storming into the tavern with fury written on every line of his body. His eyes briefly swept the room for his quarry, before he headed for the stairs, teeth grinding and low growls falling from his lips. He took the stairs two at a time in his haste to reach the second floor.

He burst into Varric’s suite and slammed the cheaply bound book onto the dwarf’s table, causing Isabela, Varric, and Merrill to jump in shock from where they were seated at the head of the table.

“Well, shit. Never let it be said you don’t know how to stage an entrance, Broody,” Varric said cheekily, recovering quickly.

“Oh, Fenris,” Merrill said, looking worried. “Whatever is the matter?”

“What is the meaning of this?” Fenris snarled, every word bitten off precisely and heavy with rage.

“Ah, I see you’ve discovered my new romance serial,” Varric said calmly. “It’s doing quite well, actually, lots of demand.”

Isabela was trying and failing to hold her giggling back, shrugging apologetically when Fenris pinned her with a fierce glare.

“Can you really blame us, sweet thing?” the pirate asked. “You and Anders are just too delicious together. It practically wrote itself.”

Fenris gaped at her, momentarily stunned.

“You - how dare you - ” he spluttered, unable to find the words to describe the depths of her depravity. “I have never in my life threatened to remove someone’s spine and wear it as a necklace!”

“Maybe you should,” Isabela suggested, raising her eyebrow at him and giving him a naughty smirk. “It’ll enhance your mystique a little.”

“Maybe I should start with you,” Fenris shot back, lips lifting in a vicious sneer that had no effect on grinning rogue.

“Ooooh, that was good,” the pirate said, elbowing Varric. “Didn’t that just give you a chill, Varric?”

“Definitely,” the dwarf agreed. “Right down the spine.”

“Venhedis!” Fenris swore. “The pair of you are impossible! You will cease writing this ridiculous story!”

“No can do, Broody,” Varric said. “My publisher wants more chapters. They’ve already had to do a reprinting. You two are especially popular in Antiva, of all places.”

“Do you not like it, Fenris?” Merrill asked innocently. “I think it’s sweet!”

“ _You’ve_ read it?” he asked, horrified. His ears heated, thinking about naive _Merrill_ reading about Anders and him - _writhing_ …

“Oh yes,” Merrill said with excitement. “It’s very popular in the alienage, it’s so rare that there are stories about elves to read. Especially heroic ones.”

Fenris blinked at that, not sure how to respond. He had been so appalled about starring in a smutty novel, he hadn’t thought much about what it might mean for elves.

He was saved from replying to Merrill by the dramatic entrance of Anders, who was shaking with anger. He swept past the elf without stopping, the same serial bunched in his fist. Fenris’ heart gave a thump in his chest at the sight of the mage, who was beautifully flushed, hair coming loose from its tie and wisping around his face.

“You!” Anders said, pointing dramatically at Varric, though he also included Isabela in his glare. “What is the meaning of this bloody - blighted - this utter and complete trash!?”

“Sorry, Blondie,” Varric said cheerfully, his tone at odds with his words. “I have to find inspiration where I can. Besides, you should be flattered. Forbidden Magic is way outselling my other romance serial, Sword and Shields.”

“I’m sure Aveline will be devastated,” Anders said through gritted teeth, hands clenched at his sides.

“Do you really think so?” Merrill asked, frowning in confusion. “I didn’t think she liked it much.”

The arrival of Anders had rekindled the warrior’s anger, and Fenris flipped towards the end of the chapter and brandished it at the unrepentant dwarf, who was looking at him with great amusement.

“I did not fight my way to literacy to read about - about my _throbbing member_ ,” he snapped, his outraged tone causing Isabela to snort with laughter. “How dare you do this!”

“I don’t see why _you’re_ complaining,” Anders objected, addressing Fenris directly for the first time. “They gave Dennis a - what was it - a Qunari-sized cock?”

“Yeah!” Isabela agreed. “We could definitely have… rounded down, you know.” She licked her lips. “Of course, if it’s accuracy you’re after, you could give me a look at the goods…”

“ _No_ ,” both elf and mage responded in angry unison, causing Isabela to sigh disappointedly and lean back in her chair.

“Not to _mention_ ,” Anders continuing his rant. “Dennis gets to kick down doors and slay Templars! What am I doing?”

He stalked towards Varric, getting into the dwarf’s face.

“Crying. And _swooning_ ,” he said, the words seeming to cause him physical pain. “You’ve turned me into a sodding damsel!”

Anders began to pace, his long legs taking him across the room and back in agitated strides, before he ended up next to Fenris, though the mage still wouldn’t look at him, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I am a Grey Warden,” he yelled, getting more and more agitated as he paced. “I fight Darkspawn and - and dragons! I was a companion to the Hero of Ferelden!”

“Calm down, Blondie,” Varric said soothingly. “Nobody here thinks you are helpless. But it’s a romance story! It doesn’t work if there’s no one to rescue!”

Anders let out a screech and began tearing the pages of the serial to pieces and throwing them at Varric, causing a flurry of smutty literature to drift through the room. Fenris had to fight a smile, the mage’s fury was so dramatic he couldn’t help but find it amusing. Almost without thought, he reached out a hand and placed it at the mage’s back, hoping to calm him.

“No - more - sodding - _swooning_ ,” Anders said, voice shrill, absentmindedly leaning into the elf’s touch.

“Alright, alright,” Varric said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I get it. Swooning is bad.”

“Aww,” Isabela pouted. “I quite liked all the swooning.”

“Yes,” Merrill agreed, clasping her hands and looking quite sincere. “It’s so romantic!”

“It’s rubbish,” Anders scoffed, folding his arms and glaring sullenly, while Fenris rolled his eyes, fingers still soothing the mage with little circles traced over the small of his back.

A look of sadness flitted over the little elf’s face.

“Oh creators, the pair of you,” she chided. “You’re in love! You should be happy, not sulking about.”

Fenris jerked away from Anders, his skin heating and his ears twitching with discomfort. He heard the mage stammering next to him, before drawing himself to his full height, which was considerable.

“Our relationship is none of your business,” Anders snapped. “Stay out of it!”

Anders grabbed his hand and before he knew it the elf felt himself being tugged out of the room, following Anders down the stairs and out the doors of The Hanged Man into the fetid air of Lowtown. Once they were free of the doors, the mage paused and turned to him, keeping hold of his hand.

“Are you - okay?” Anders asked hesitantly.

Fenris squeezed the mage’s hand reassuringly, though he couldn’t help but be touched by his concern.

“I am fine, mage,” he replied.

Anders’ amber eyes softened, and he gave Fenris a mischievous grin, stroking a finger up the elf’s wrist in a light caress. Fenris couldn’t help but give a small shiver, wondering how the mage could possibly make touching his wrist so sensual. Anders stepped closer to him, close enough that Fenris could feel the heat between them, but not so close that Fenris was uncomfortable.

“Well, I guess I no longer need to worry about what happens if the Templars finally manage to catch me,” Anders said with a snort. “Apparently I can look forward to an elf named Dennis fighting his way to my side and killing them all with his ludicrously large… sword.”

Fenris laughed softly, eyes locked on the single finger that Anders was brushing against his inner forearm. Suddenly, he turned his hand and encircled the mage’s wrist, gripping him firmly. He forced himself to look into Anders’ eyes, which had widened in surprise.

“I would, you know,” he said quietly. “I would come for you.”

Anders’ lips parted in a faint gasp, and he blinked, before a long slow smile crept over his face.

“And is the rest of the story accurate?” the mage asked teasingly. “What would you do to your swooning apostate after this heroic rescue?”

“What I want to do to you is not appropriate to be said on a public street, not even in Lowtown,” Fenris said, lowering his voice to a growl and watching with satisfaction as the mage’s eyes dilated and his breath hitched.

“I guess we need to get you off the street then, _Dennis_ ,” Anders murmured, his voice husky with both laughter and arousal.

Fenris’ lips curved into a sharp smile.

“After you, _Manders_.”

*** * ***

_Later, safe in their mansion, Dennis gazed in awe upon the beauty of Manders, pale skin turned golden in the light of the flickering fire as the mage let his robes drop away, offering himself to his fierce elven lover._

_“You are so lovely,” he said to the mage, sweeping him into a passionate kiss._

_“I love you, Dennis,” Manders said, blinking limpidly up at him._

_“You have cast a spell upon me,” the elf said breathlessly, covering the alluring apostate with kisses. “Nothing but magic could explain the depth of my love for you.”_

_Manders returned his kisses, moaning._

_“You have reached into my chest and stolen my heart,” the mage said, gasping as Dennis marked him with his teeth. “I will never love anyone as I love you.”_

_The elf growled savagely._

_“That’s because you are mine, Manders,” he said intensely. “And nothing will ever part us.”_

_The elf laid the trembling mage on the rug covered with rose petals, caressing the silk of Manders’ skin with breathless care._

_Stripping his armor away, the muscled warrior freed the massive Qunari-sized erection he kept hidden in his skin-tight leggings._

_He covered the mage with his body, both moaning with pleasure as they rubbed together, the elf’s skin glistening in the firelight._

_“I need to feel you, Dennis,” Manders begged, chest heaving with ardor. “Please, take me!”_

_“Anything for you, love,” Dennis said, his wicked tongue causing Manders to writhe with ecstasy, before sliding his throbbing member into the mage’s welcoming body._

_“Oh, yes, yes, Dennis,” Manders wailed. “You feel so good inside me!”_

_The two lovers surged together like the waves of an angry sea, sinful moans of joy echoing off the walls of the decadent mansion._

_As they reached their blissful peak, the pair showered words of love and joy upon each other._

_Afterwards, Dennis held Manders in his arms, breathing heavily from their lustful exertions and stroking the mage’s back._

_“How long will you love me?” Dennis murmured._

_“Always,” Manders said fervently. “Always.”_

_The door was suddenly thrown open, as dozens of enemies swarmed the confused lovers._

_“Dennis!” Manders called out, as he was wrenched from the elf’s arms. “Dennis! Save me!”_

_“Manders!” Dennis lamented, held back by numerous foes, leaving him to watch helplessly as the mage was kidnapped right in front of him._

_“Noooooooo!” he screamed, struggling against his captors until one of them knocked him out with a sharp blow, and the last thing he heard were the sobs of his lover being torn from him._

_“No,” he whispered, eyes glazing over. “Manders…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested in checking out the rest of Forbidden Magic it is at http://archiveofourown.org/works/5887105/chapters/13568575 
> 
> I definitely plan on continuing the adventures of Manders and Dennis - spoiler alert, future chapters will feature stealing the Viscount's rubies and a threesome.
> 
> Big thanks to Prudabaga and GirlNamedJack - who patiently dealt with my crying incessantly over this chapter for the last month.


	16. A Broken City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are pro-Chantry, you might wanna quit this story right now, because I'm about to read them for filth.

Anders was writing feverishly, for once completely in tune with the spirit inside him as they spilled their reasoning onto new pages of the manifesto. Every word clicked into place, turning into the perfect arguments against the oppression of mages.

His fingers were stained with ink, writing so quickly that his quill occasionally caught on the parchment.

He finished a sentence with a flourish, leaning back to read through his last couple of pages, Justice humming in contentment within him.

Anders had been trying to sleep when inspiration struck, knowing that Fenris would be disappointed with him if he didn’t rest. His lips quirked, remembering his “punishment” at the elf’s hands. He may have enjoyed it entirely more than he should have, but the pain had apparently done what Fenris had wanted it to do, which was remind Anders that he needed to take better care of himself.

 **“Stop allowing the elf to distract you,”** Justice scolded. The spirit definitely had a soft spot for Fenris’ soothing lyrium aura but when away from it had begun to make his objections to Anders’ relationship known. He complained of the amount of time Fenris took from their cause, either because of Anders spending blissful hours tucked away in Fenris’ mansion or the sheer amount of time the mage spent thinking about the elf.

“Oh, shut it, you,” Anders muttered to himself, stretching and popping his lower back with a wince.

Almost as if the healer’s thoughts had conjured him, Fenris appeared in the doorway, following Hawke as the rogue strolled into the clinic. Justice immediately started grumbling in a corner of Anders’ mind, which the mage ignored as he stood to greet them.

“Hawke,” Anders said. He snuck a glance at Fenris and was rewarded by a small smile from the elf. Fenris was not demonstrative when they were with the others, but made his affection known in subtle ways, a smile here, a squeeze of the hand there. Anders appreciated it, and tried to respect Fenris’ boundaries when in public. Fenris was very private in nature, attention made him uncomfortable.

“You’re here late,” Anders said, yawning.

“Oh no, Sparklefingers,” Isabela grumbled, slinking in behind the men and leaning against the wall, twirling her daggers absentmindedly. “We’re here very early.”

“Oh,” Anders said blankly. Had he really written all night long? He avoided Fenris’ pointed look, shuffling his feet guiltily.

“Apparently, _someone_ decided to wake with the birds to drag my ass to the Chantry of all places,” Isabela continued, with a scorching glare at Hawke, who just grinned.

“Come on now, Isabela,” Hawke teased. “You know you love to shock all those proper Chantry sisters with that magnificent ass.”

“Some of them would surprise you,” Isabela responded, lips curving in a fond grin. “I once met the most delicious redhead who was _very_ adept at making me sing the Maker’s praise.”

“ _Why_ are we going to the Chantry?” Anders asked pointedly, holding back another yawn.

Hawke’s face grew strained.

“I have a meeting with Grand Cleric Elthina,” he said, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “About Meredith.”

Anders fought to keep his face smooth, but inside his feelings - and Justice - were roiling with frustration.

“Let me guess,” he said lightly, trying to keep his tone free from anger. “She still howling at the bloody moon? Crushing mages underneath her booted feet?”

Hawke dipped his head in acknowledgment while Fenris shifted, his face neutral.

"I’ve heard some… disturbing rumors about what’s happening in the Gallows lately,” Hawke said carefully, clearly sensing the tension that was growing within the clinic.

“Color me shocked,” Anders said, no longer bothering to mask his bitterness. Isabela snickered in agreement, swinging her daggers to her back in a purposeful movement.

Anders moved to grab his staff, turning his back on the group as he fought to keep his composure. He couldn’t help feeling a petty sort of pleasure that he would walk into the Chantry and face Elthina as an obvious apostate, safe from Chantry interference while under Hawke’s protection. He’d be able to look her in the eye, the infamous Darktown healer, and tell her what he thought of her pathetic attempts to broker peace in a broken city.

He drew in a ragged breath as Fenris fell in behind him and he had to resist the urge just to lean back and crumple against the elf and beg him to take him away to a place where peace was a possibility, not just an increasingly unreachable ideal.

A hand stroked through his hair and along his back, and Anders closed his eyes and took strength from Fenris' wordless comfort. He straightened his spine and calmed his expression, facing Hawke with the warrior at his side.

“I’m ready,” he said firmly, ignoring the look of concern on Hawke’s face. “Let’s go.”

Without waiting for Hawke, he left the clinic, striding towards the basement entrance of the Amell estate. He was joined quickly by the others, the group making their way through the mansion quietly.

“Well, aren’t we a cheerful bunch,” Isabela said, finally breaking the silence as they reached Hightown, which was bustling despite the early hour. “Really, Hawke, you couldn’t have picked a better group to accompany you on this little jaunt. A pirate, an apostate, and an elf covered in lyrium? Really?”

“Aveline was busy,” Hawke protested defensively. “And would bringing the shady dwarven businessman or the _Dalish blood mage_ really have been any better?”

“Point,” Isabela said. “Though if Kitten was here we could watch her ramble on about her elven gods to the Grand Cleric, which would be vastly more amusing than whatever this mess is.”

“Hush,” Fenris said grumpily. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Ser, yes ser,” Isabela, saluting the elf mockingly before walking languidly towards the imposing building of the Chantry.

Anders stared at the stairs, jaw set. Hawke settled a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll convince her to do something,” Hawke said, attempting to comfort the agitated mage.

Anders snorted. He had wasted reams of paper writing to the Grand Cleric, to the Divine, to the Knight-Commander. None of them gave a flying fuck about mages and he sincerely doubted that an in-person meeting would change that, no matter how persuasive Hawke was.

Hawke moved to join Isabela, who was beckoning to them to hurry up. Anders squared his shoulders and marched after him, Fenris a silent presence beside him.

As they navigated the stairs, Anders felt his anger grow with every step. This building was spotless and ostentatious, gold spent on embroidered banners and statuary that could be helping the poor in the lower city sections.

Instead the Chantry spent the money celebrating themselves and all of their non-existent good works. It was hollow ceremony, devoid of the sincerity of Andraste’s love and sacrifice and an affront to the Maker. Justice rumbled within him, wordless fury radiating from both of them in the face of such empty worship.

Anders didn’t realize he’d stopped climbing the stairs until Fenris reached out a hand to him, perched on a higher step. The elf was looking down at him, his green eyes calm. The mage took a deep breath and took Fenris’ hand, letting the warrior lead him as they neared the Chantry doors. With a final comforting squeeze, Fenris let go, but he stayed within reach as they entered. 

Anders followed Hawke as he walked up the aisle to the heart of the Chantry. In front of him, Isabela was doing her best saunter, hips rolling salaciously as she winked at a sister lighting incense. The sister gasped and dropped her flame, blushing as Isabela chuckled wickedly.

Anders looked up at the giant statue of Andraste looking serenely out over the Chantry floor and grimaced. He focused on breathing as Hawke explained their meeting to a stern-looking sister who glared at each of them in turn, eyes lingering on Anders’ staff slung unapologetically over his shoulder. Anders looked back defiantly, smirking at her distaste. She huffed and left to fetch the Grand Cleric.

“And then Isabela went to the Chantry and saw that it was boring. Canticle of Isabela, stanza one, verse one,” Isabela said, not troubling to keep her voice low, and shocking a few more of the devout.

“Isabela, darling,” Hawke said with exasperation. “Might you find it in your heart to _not_ sabotage this meeting before it’s even begun?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Isabela said, pouting and crossing her arms over her chest. “But they deserve it.”

Hawke sighed and looked to the heavens, presumably praying to the Maker for patience, before snapping to attention as a serene gray-haired woman joined them.

“Messere Hawke,” Grand Cleric Elthina greeted them gently. Anders gritted his teeth against her placid demeanor. How dare she be so calm when Kirkwall was on the brink of falling completely apart?

“Grand Cleric,” Hawke responded respectfully, even managing a small bow in acknowledgment.

Elthina smiled kindly at the gesture.

“I have been informed you wish to discuss the Knight-Commander,” the Grand Cleric said, her light blue eyes projecting nothing but a maddening neutrality.

“Yes, your grace,” Hawke said, matching her neutral tone. “I have been growing increasingly concerned by some of the Knight-Commander’s recent actions.”

“I see,” Elthina murmured, folding her hands in front of her and waiting for Hawke to continue.

“The nobles are uneasy that thus far, the Knight-Commander has made it difficult for a new Viscount to be chosen,” Hawke said carefully.

“I’m sure the proper candidate will present themselves in due time,” Elthina replied blandly. “It would not be wise to rush such an important process, though I thank you for your interest in the city’s welfare.”

Anders saw Hawke’s shoulders visibly tighten, but he kept his smile firmly affixed to his face.

“Indeed,” he said, and only someone who knew him extremely well could’ve heard the frustration laden in that one word.

Taking a deep breath, Hawke continued.

“I also have heard from… various sources, that there are abuses happening within the Gallows,” he said. “Mages illegally being made tranquil past their Harrowing, and misconduct of a… sexual nature.”

The Grand Cleric bowed her head in contemplation, as Anders clenched his fists, trying to hold back angry words as Justice rumbled within him. He felt a hand on his wrist, Fenris silently asking him to keep himself in check.

“These are grave charges, my son,” Elthina said softly. “Have you any proof?”

“The trouble, Grand Cleric,” Hawke answered, “Is that those that are affected are quite frightened of Knight-Commander Meredith’s reprisal, should they be found speaking against her.”

"I cannot turn on my templars, on the very words of Andraste, for fear. No matter how justified that fear might be," Elthina said sedately.

Anders couldn’t listen anymore. He couldn’t listen to this blighted woman calmly discussing the fate of mages as if their lives were worth nothing. He pushed forward, ignoring Hawke as he tried to hold him back.

“Anyone with eyes can see that there is something wrong in this city,” he spat accusingly, glaring at Elthina. “Every time one goes to the Gallows there are more and more Tranquil there, seasoned mages who have long passed their Harrowing. How can you justify doing nothing?”

Elthina barely reacted to him, instead turning back to Hawke, who had his hands helplessly on Anders’ shoulders.

“Your friend’s soul is troubled,” she said. “I will pray to the Maker that he finds solace in the Chantry’s teachings.”

“The Maker is _gone_ ,” Anders hissed. “There’s only _us_ , there’s only _you_. Meredith is running this city like her private fiefdom, and you are the _only_ one who has authority over her. If you do nothing, you are directly condoning the rape and murder of the mages that are under your care.”

“This meeting is over,” Elthina responded, not a ripple of disquiet on her face. She tilted her head to Hawke. “Please remove your friend from the Chantry. He is overwrought.”

Justice surged through him at that, and Anders felt like his head was splitting open. He barely felt the hands pulling him from the Chantry, his friends rushing him out before Justice could fully manifest. He concentrated on holding on, the fade spirit roaring through his veins and demanding righteous punishment. 

“Anders!”

Fenris' voice penetrated through the confusing fog of Anders’ thoughts and he was able to restrain Justice enough to blink his eyes open to Fenris' wide and worried gaze.

“Fen,” he mumbled, realizing that his fingers were dug into the elf’s forearms, and they were outside in the Chantry courtyard, bright sunlight hurting his dilated pupils.

“Look at me, Anders,” Fenris said tensely and Anders obeyed, letting the bright green anchor his mind as Justice raged within him. Fenris pulled him to standing and led him to a darker corner of the courtyard. Isabela and Hawke surrounded them, trying to hide the mage from any suspicious glances.

Fenris studied his face, then seeing that Anders had regained some semblance of control, turned on Hawke.

“I _told_ you not to bring him,” the elf snapped at Hawke, who glared back defensively. “It wasn’t fair to make him face - ”

“Face what?” Anders interjected angrily. “The truth? That nobody in this blighted city cares at all about the lives of mages? That it’s hopeless?”

“I care,” Hawke said sharply. “My father was a mage! My sister was a mage! I am _trying_ \- ”

“And what have you accomplished?” Anders yelled back. “What have _I_ accomplished? _Nothing_.”

The mage felt his eyelids prick with unshed tears, forced to admit the truth, that he’d lived in this hellhole of a city for years, fighting for a cause in every way he knew how, and getting nowhere. Mages were still being abused, the poor in Darktown were still dying. He had made no difference at all. He slumped, right there on the ground, brought to his knees with his own weakness.

He looked up at Fenris helplessly, the elf gazing back at him, jaw clenched and eyes filled with unguarded worry. Hawke flanked him, distressed but unable to counter the accuracy of Anders’ words. Isabela hovered, uncharacteristically silent, her face still and strained.

Anders looked down at his hands, not able to look at any of them any longer, feeling shattered and empty.

 **“We will bring them vengeance,”** Justice snarled, filling the mage with his anger, his single-minded purpose. **“We will show them why mages are feared.”**

Justice’s rage scoured Anders clean of emotion, his path forward clear. There could be no more excuses, no more compromises. No more distractions.

He stood, and faced them all.

“No more,” he said starkly, and turned to leave, making it only a few steps before he felt Fenris’ hand upon him. He closed his eyes, hardening his heart, and turned to face the only person who had the ability to turn him from his course.

“Anders?” Fenris said bleakly, the question he didn’t want answered in his voice.

"I can’t,” he answered, voice sorrowful but firm.

“Anders,” Fenris said, then swallowed. “Please.”

The simplicity of the pain in Fenris’ voice broke his heart, and the wounded green of Fenris’ gaze almost broke his resolve. He forced himself to remember another pair of eyes he had loved, eyes turned blank and empty, and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Anders said, then left Fenris behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate titles for this chapter were "Fuck the Chantry" and "Grand Cleric Elthina Sucks" and if I could've figured a way to convey "the wordless cry of the pain in my heart while writing this" into a chapter title, that's what it would've been called.


	17. The Silent Vigil

Fenris was perched in shadow on one of the dingy staircases outside of Anders’ clinic. Though it was hard to tell the difference in the gloomy atmosphere of Darktown, it was deep night. The citizens of the undercity had settled in for what scant rest they could find, and an eerie quiet was draped over the dripping sewers.

The elf had been there for hours, having what Varric would have undoubtedly termed “an epic broodfest.” Worried that Anders might be the victim of Chantry reprisal after the disastrous meeting with Elthina, he couldn’t help but keep guard over the healer. His body was coiled in readiness as he kept all of the senses he had honed as a bodyguard alert for the clank of Templars.

Fenris had spent most of his last years fueled by rage, the quietly simmering fury in his veins keeping him strong through the trials of the life of a slave on the run. Slowly, Anders had been chipping away at that anger, teasing laughter and passionate kisses coaxing new feelings to grow where once there had been nothing but bitterness. Now, there was no room for any other emotion but an overwhelming fear for his mage.

Fenris had gone over both the meeting and its aftermath obsessively, trying to pinpoint the moment he had lost everything. Trying to determine if he could have said something, done something, that would’ve stopped it all from unraveling in front of him.

His final glimpse of Anders’ face had scared him, devoid of the compassion that was at the core of who the healer was. Though the mage’s eyes had stayed amber, Fenris sensed that he had been looking at the face of Justice, pitiless and fierce. He dreaded that Anders was somehow gone, lost on the twisting pathways towards vengeance.

Fenris knew vengeance. He had spent years searching for it, lain awake in a cold bed envisioning the moment he would take it. And he had. He had looked into the terrified eyes of Danarius and torn out his heart. But it had not brought him any joy, in the end. Just more anger.

Fenris couldn’t help but feel that something had irrevocably broken within his mage, and he didn’t know how to fix it. He doubted this was something he could patch together with an offered apple and a kiss.

So he did the only thing he could think to do. He watched.

A whisper of sound was the only warning Fenris had, the warrior’s hand leaping to the hilt of his greatsword before he realized that it was Hawke that had joined him. Hawke’s size and boisterous personality often had people forgetting that he was a rogue at heart. It was a mistake that had led to the silent death of many of his enemies.

“Hawke,” Fenris acknowledged quietly.

“Fenris,” Hawke responded as he settled in at the elf’s side. “Fancy meeting you here.”

They sat in the hush of Darktown for several minutes before the warrior spoke again.

“I was worried.”

“For what the Chantry might do to him, or what he might do to the Chantry?” Hawke asked.

“Both.”

He felt, rather than saw, Hawke’s nod of agreement, not taking his eyes off the unlit lantern at Anders’ door.

“He’s right, you know,” Hawke said.

Fenris waited, the hush of Darktown settling over them.

“I _have_ failed,” Hawke continued, finally. “I’ve failed this city so many times I’ve lost count.”

“That’s not true,” Fenris said softly.

“Yes, it is,” Hawke responded sadly. “I walk past that fucking statue and I want to tear it down with my bare hands. This city is falling apart, and I can’t seem to stop it. I can’t even seem to slow it down. Just… everything crumbling away.”

Fenris turned to look at his friend.

“You’ve helped many people, Hawke.”

Hawke sighed and buried his head in his hands.

“Not enough,” he mumbled through his fingers. “Never enough. And how many people have I hurt in the process?”

“You’re only one man,” Fenris responded. “You can’t fix the world, Hawke.”

Hawke made a scoffing noise under his breath.

“Hawke,” Fenris said, voice firm. “Look at me.”

Hawke reluctantly raised his head to meet Fenris’ gaze, the rogue’s eyes glittering in the scant light.

“You saved me, Hawke,” Fenris said fiercely, determined to say what he felt in his heart but had never spoken of. “Without you I would be dead or back in chains. I owe you everything.”

“No, Fenris,” Hawke murmured, a catch in his voice. “You saved yourself. I just helped when I could.”

Fenris shook his head. Hawke would never know how much Fenris had needed someone to stand at his side, to believe in him, to remind him that he deserved freedom. Fenris still fought the twisted instincts that told him he was just a slave, unworthy of friendship, unworthy of love. Of family. Danarius had trained him well.

“You underestimate your importance in my life,” the elf replied softly. “But of course you helped. That’s who you are, someone who helps when he can. But it’s not possible to save everyone.”

“But I should’ve been able to save _them_ ,” Hawke said.

Fenris knew Hawke was thinking of his family. He had never heard the man speak of them, always skillfully changing the subject whenever it brushed too close.

“Carver was a contrary little shit, you know,” Hawke said with a rueful chuckle. “Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. If I said the sky was blue, he’d insist it was green and find a way to punch me in the process.”

Fenris smiled at the fondness in Hawke’s voice. He could well imagine a smaller, ornier version of Hawke, throwing punches and fighting the world.

“And Bethany,” Hawke said, choking up at the name. “Maker, Bethany. I held her in my arms and watched the Blight slowly take her and all I could think about was what I could have done differently. I could’ve listened to Mother and left her behind… I could’ve insisted Anders accompany us. I could’ve made so many decisions that would’ve changed everything. If I had, would she still be alive?”

Bethany Hawke had been the first mage Fenris had ever seen as a real person, the first mage he had ever liked. Her bright smile and her patience with his anger… Varric had been right to name her Sunshine. Fenris had mourned her death.

“She was a beautiful person,” Fenris said haltingly. He was unsure if his words would help his friend, but he would try. “And she was strong. She had the right to make her own decisions, Hawke. She wanted to be by your side.”

Hawke’s shoulders slumped beside him.

“Mother…” he whispered, and didn’t say more.

Fenris had been there when Leandra Hawke died. It had been horrific. The stench of blood and rot. The look of dread on Hawke’s face when he’d seen what his mother had become. The awful shuffling noise of limbs held together by obsession and dark magic. Anders’ helplessness at being unable to fix it all. Fenris still had nightmares about it.

“I don't know what to say, but I am here,” Fenris said.

“Am I to blame?” Hawke asked brokenly.

“I could say no, but I fear it would not help. You are looking for forgiveness, but I'm not the one who can give it to you,” Fenris answered.

“No one can,” Hawke said, bitterness in his voice.

They were quiet then, their vigil silent but for the scurrying of an occasional rat.

“Did he ever tell you about Karl?” Hawke asked, finally breaking their shared lull.

Fenris’ ears twitched in discomfort and he shook his head. Karl had been made tranquil before he met Hawke, so he had only heard vague stories. The one time he had tried to talk to Anders about it had not gone well, devolving into one of the many bitter arguments that characterized most of their early interactions.

Hawke sighed.

“I’d always hear stories, from my father mostly, about how terrible tranquility was,” the rogue said sadly. “But I had never seen it for myself.”

Fenris sat stiffly, listening to the low timbre of Hawke’s voice intently.

“Anders was devastated. He had come to Kirkwall to save Karl, only to lose him to a fate worse than death, see him reduced to a Templar’s plaything.”

Fenris’ heart ached, thinking of the pain Anders’ must’ve felt, was probably still feeling.

“I have had more than one person I love die in my arms,” Hawke said bleakly. “But wielding the blade yourself… I wouldn’t wish that upon my worst enemy. Anders... he lost it. That was the first time I saw Justice.”

Fenris was thinking back to when he had found out that Anders was possessed. The disgust he had felt for yet another mage hungry for power, the fear that Anders would turn on them all. He looked back on who he had been then and saw a stranger. How was it possible for your whole world to shift so quickly?

“Maker, it was terrifying,” Hawke continued. “To look into your friend’s eyes and know that he’s not there? It’s terrifying every time.”

Hawke shuddered, wrapping his arms around his middle as if to comfort himself.

“Then I found out the worst part.”

Fenris looked at Hawke questioningly.

“Karl… he was Anders’ first love. Maybe his only love.”

Fenris’ whole body had gone cold in horror. He tried to picture what he would do if he suddenly looked into Anders’ honeyed gaze and saw nothing there but the eerie blankness of the Tranquil.

 _He would kill them all_ , he thought, jaw clenching. If the Templars ever did such a thing to his mage, he would kill them all and make sure they died in agony.

He glanced up to see Hawke looking at him sadly.

“He’s loved you for years, you know,” Hawke said softly.

Fenris ducked his head, hunching his shoulders. Yes, he had known, though he had tried not to know. He had ignored the glances, the passion that the mage brought to their arguments, always trying to convince him of the oppression faced by mages.

Fenris had pushed it all away, letting harsh words fester and misunderstandings flourish. He had feared being tied to yet another mage, even if the fetters were made of love rather than cold iron.

In the end, it hadn’t mattered. He hadn’t been strong enough to stay away, and now he was bound to Anders. He couldn’t run from him any more than he could run from himself.

“I won’t fail him,” Hawke said after several minutes of contemplation.

Fenris nodded.

“Neither will I,” he said, the words laden with fierce determination.

“He’s my family now,” Hawke continued grimly. “You all are. And I will find a way to save him, from himself or from the Chantry. From Justice.”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed. “We will.”

He turned to Hawke, as the undercity began to brighten with the nearly imperceptible dawn and allowed him to just barely see the rogue’s face through the lingering dimness.

“My family is gone,” Fenris said. “Lost to my past. But it seems to me that family is not just the people who depend on you, but the people who you can depend on. You aren’t alone, Hawke. Not in this, and not in general. We will save him. Together.”

Hawke made a soft noise of assent. Around them Darktown was starting to come to life, its citizens beginning another weary day.

Hawke and Fenris watched as the door to the clinic opened, and Anders shuffled out to light his lantern, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. The elf’s eyes drank in the healer’s golden hair and tired face, aching to hold him in his arms, where he knew his mage was safe.

“Are you going to go talk to him?” Hawke asked.

Fenris shook his head.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “I fear making it worse. He can be stubborn when challenged.”

Hawke snorted.

“Well that’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” he chuckled drily.

Hawke stood, stretching after a long night in the dark, and dropped a hand to Fenris’ shoulder.

“I’ve already asked Varric to keep an eye on the clinic during the day,” the rogue said. “You should go home and rest if you aren’t ready to speak to him.”

“Just a few minutes longer,” Fenris said, watching Anders enter his clinic and close the door.

"See you tomorrow night,” the rogue said with a final squeeze to Fenris’ shoulder before he disappeared into Darktown.

Fenris nodded. He would be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, a struggle for a title. As much as I wanted to call it "An Epic Broodfest"... ;)
> 
> I straight up could not do this without GirlNamedJack. <3


	18. A Boy on the Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry this chapter took so long. Was dealing with a serious depression and a lot of work stress, which made writing very difficult. I'm hoping that this chapter will help get things going again on a more regular basis. I have not and will never give up on this fic. You're stuck with me, nerds!

Anders regarded his shaking hands with clinical curiosity. He unclenched and clenched his fingers into a fist, nails digging into his palm and causing pinpricks of pain that felt very far away.

**Anders. You must pay attention.**

The mage forced his eyes to focus on Xenon, who was lolling on his macabre throne and chuckling madly. Anders could only assume that the aged antiquarian was amusing himself, because Anders had certainly not said anything funny.

“Urchin,” Xenon wheezed. “The books, if you please.”

Anders set his offering of rare and difficult to brew potions near the proprietor's grisly feet and tried not to shudder. The silent and eerie boy that Anders had only ever heard to referred to as ‘Urchin’ handed him a stack full of books in return.

He’d had this deal with Xenon for years, exchanging potions for books banned by the Chantry. Anders had probably the largest library of books regarding anatomy and healing magic outside of the Tevinter Imperium.

He ran a thumb over the spine of one of the books, tracing the embossing as he read through the new titles.

“Why would the Chantry ban a book written by Brother Genitivi?” he asked Xenon. Genitivi was required reading in the circle, his scholarship thorough and thoroughly boring. He couldn’t imagine the man writing anything interesting enough for the Chantry to ban it.

“Those who ban books fear all forms of truth,” Xenon said, his hoarse voice cracking oddly.

Anders let out a bitter chuckle. Fear was the foundation of the Chantry, built brick by brick with ignorance and holding the whole institution together with lies. Terrify mages into hating themselves to subdue them. Teach the common people that magic brings only evil and never good.

Power. And control. Never truth.

Anders felt the now familiar rage start to rise within him as he thought about the hypocrisy and the pain and the death. He swayed on his feet, the anger making him feel brittle and old. He hugged the books to his chest and breathed in deeply, steadying himself before he turned to leave.

“There is something in Genitivi’s book that may be of some interest to you,” Xenon wheezed out just as Anders made it to the door.

Anders cocked his head, but didn’t bother to look back. Xenon began to do something that could only be described as cackling.

“Yes, yes,” Xenon said between insane giggles. “ _Very_ interesting.”

Anders fled to the sewers. Even the overwhelming smell of shit surrounding him was preferable to the disturbing laughter of an ancient relic, a parody of a man slowly collapsing under the weight of unfathomable age.

He trudged through the underground passages, the only sounds that accompanied him were his lonely footsteps echoing through the damp.

When the mage finally reached his clinic, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it, still shaking as his breath came in short, tortured pants. Anders squeezed his eyes closed as he sunk to the ground, willing his heart to stop beating in such sharp staccato, trying not to choke on the panic that had seized his body.

He couldn’t pinpoint why Xenon’s words had filled him with such dread. The antiquarian was creepy but not malevolent and Anders had never been frightened by him in the past. He focused on breathing, in and out, as he slowly calmed. Eventually, he struggled to his feet. His limbs felt leaden, every step heavy.

Anders placed his new books on his desk and eyed them with trepidation. He shook himself, trying to dispel the ominous feeling Xenon had left him with. It was silly to be nervous about reading a book.

**Your fear is irrational. We must continue to research if we are to implement our plan. The mages can afford no hesitation.**

Anders set his jaw. He _knew_ all of this. Justice’s urgency had been thrumming through his body for the last couple of days, keeping him hyper aware and tense as an idea, a dangerous, desperate idea, started to coalesce from the anger he and Justice shared.

He had not slept much as he and Justice thought through their next move in obsessive circles, considering and discarding numerous strategies for their new goal. _If Fenris knew how he had been pushing himself_ \- Anders wrenched his thoughts away from the elf, determined not to think about how Fenris would react to what he and Justice were planning.

He sat, grimly pulling the Genitivi book from the top of the stack and opening it. He remembered Xenon’s ghoulish laughter and grimaced, forcing himself to continue paging through dry descriptions of the Frostback mountains. Hours passed as he read, rubbing his eyes as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, the words beginning to blur.

He was too tired to read the book cover to cover, and it was unlikely there was anything helpful within, anyway, despite the mutterings of Xenon. He yawned and was about to put the book aside, when a word tugged at his eyes and drew his attention. Spirit.

_The Avvar treat their mages much differently than the Chantry. Mages are referred to as Shamans, similar to the Dalish custom of Keepers. Shamans are treated with great respect and considered figures of wisdom among the tribe. Their power among the Avvar is inextricably linked to the Avvar reverence of spirits, whom they often pray to for blessings._

_Avvar mage training is shrouded in mystery, as the tribes are notoriously wary of outsiders, whom they refer to as “lowlanders”. I was unable to ascertain for certain the validity of the claims that the Avvar call spirit teachers to possess young mages and direct their magical training. At some point when the young mage is deemed ready to take on the responsibilities of a Shaman, the spirit is then released via some type of ritual._

_The implications are quite staggering, suggesting that there is indeed a concrete difference between spirits and demons, as well as a ritual that may be used to reverse the effects of possession, thereby saving those mages who have become Abominations._

Anders rocked back, standing as his mind raced trying to comprehend all of the possibilities. He could feel Justice’s turmoil as well, a feeling of unbearable sadness.

They could be free. They could be separate.

 **Home**.

The thought from Justice was accompanied by a crushing loneliness, Anders gasping under the weight of the spirit’s pain.

Anders had never fully appreciated what it must be like for Justice, being trapped in a world that was so foreign to his experience, trapped in the confines of a human body not his own, surrounded by injustice and believing there was no hope to go home.

He fought against the sucking maelstrom of Justice’s emotions, trying to think clearly through what this meant. His thoughts jumbled together and coalesced around one single thing.

_Fenris._

The elf didn’t smile or laugh all that often, but when he did the corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit. His hands were gentle when they soothed the mage’s nightmares, his eyes the bright color of a forest after a thunderstorm. The warrior had fought for his life and his freedom with everything he had and he had succeeded. How could Anders’ battered heart not love such a person?

Slowly he became aware of Justice again, the spirit keening out his agony as they both struggled to wrap their mind around this new possibility.

**Home. Home. Home.**

Anders had never felt Justice like this, had never felt such naked emotion of any kind pouring out of him. The anguish gradually ebbed as Justice began to gain further control over his feelings, the spirit putting his will back together with brutal determination.

**This. This is not a thing we can have, Anders.**

Justice’s first fully formed thought out of the chaos of feeling that had inundated them both was jarring.

**We have a duty. We have a responsibility. We must… we must let this go. For the greater good. For something much bigger than ourselves.**

Anders thought of a boy on the run, restless and wild and roaming Thedas in search of a life that was wholly his own and he mourned for that boy, who he knew now had died long before.

Anders shuddered and sat back down slowly, pushing the Genitivi book aside with trembling hands. He tore his eyes from it and reached mechanically for the next book.

If Justice could give up what he wanted most in the world to do the right thing, how could Anders do less?

Anders found what he was looking for hours later in a battered alchemy book, a recipe for destruction written out with a deceptively banal list of ingredients. The mage felt a chill quiver down his spine, closing his eyes and picturing screams and fire…

The healer jerked back to awareness, eyes snapping open and blinking away the haze that had clouded his thoughts. He looked down at his hands, which had clenched the book so violently that the pages were crumpled and ripped. He smoothed them out, heart hammering as he set the book aside.

Mouth dry, he stood and poured himself some water, hands trembling as he brought the cup to his lips.

Could he really do this? Could he really bring himself to hurt people, possibly innocent people? He had felt so sure before, the thought of finally taking justice making everything so clear, so simple. He could punish those that had hurt him, punish those that hurt others, finally do something besides scrabble futilely in the gloom of Darktown, trying to hold back the tide of misery with a manifesto and some healing magic. But he could also be free…

He hadn’t noticed the tears that were slipping down his face until he brought his hands up to cover his eyes with blessed darkness, fingers moving upward to tangle in his lank hair as he sank down and curled in on himself.

**You must stop this, Anders. We are the only ones who can bring justice to this world, correct the inequality, and save innocent mages from being victimized by the evil of the Chantry.**

Anders had never hated himself as fiercely as he did in that moment, snivelling like a coward on a dirty floor, pathetic and weak, unable to find the strength to do what was right, what was just. He was selfish, had always been selfish, and now that he had a chance to strike a blow against the suffering of others he was trying to find any excuse he could to avoid his responsibility. No one could do this but him, and his way forward was clear and righteous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that it's clear that I care about Justice and I don't think he's evil or a demon.


	19. A Bloodstained Knife

Fenris hurried down the stairs, fingers working to finish fastening the clasps on his gauntlets. The insistent noise at his front door bore the unmistakable sound of Hawke on a mission. He opened the door to find not only Hawke, but a disgruntled Aveline and an uncomfortable looking Anders. 

Fenris tried to ignore the pained thump of his heart as Anders kept his gaze firmly on the ground. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Hawke?”

Hawke beamed at him with the deranged smile he only donned when he was going to try and convince you to do something truly reckless.

“Fenris! My favorite elven warrior!”

“I’m your _only_ elven warrior, Hawke,” Fenris grumbled. He ducked his head to try again to get Anders to meet his eyes, but the mage was still stubbornly considering his feet. He knew that Hawke was likely trying to help ease the tensions, but Anders looked so miserable in his presence Fenris couldn’t help but wish Hawke had, for once in his life, _just left it alone._

Fenris sighed.

“Please just tell me why you are here.”

Aveline crossed her arms over her armored chest and huffed bitterly.

“Good luck, Fenris,” she said, shooting Anders a dark look that the mage pointedly ignored. “I can’t get a straight answer out of either of them. Apparently, we’re meant to be trampling through the sewers on Anders’ say-so.”

“What are friends for?” Hawke interrupted, the cracks in his cheerful facade flickering over his face.

Fenris simply nodded, closing the door behind him and letting his feet follow the familiar path to Darktown. After a surprised moment, the rest followed.

“Thanks for doing this,” Hawke said, falling in beside him.

Fenris glanced at him, noting the dark circles under the rogue’s eyes and his tired expression.

“How are you doing, Hawke?” he asked softly.

“Oh, you know,” Hawke chuckled wearily, rubbing a hand over his eyes and then smoothing his beard. “The Champion’s work is never done!” A smile tugged at his lips, but faltered.

Fenris looked away, shaken by how brittle Hawke seemed, his customary humor smothering under the weight of Kirkwall’s chains.

“This city asks too much of you,” Aveline said fiercely. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been torn to pieces from all of the directions you’re being pulled in.”

Anders was uncharacteristically silent, skulking behind them as if he were trying to distance himself. Fenris couldn’t help but drink in every glimpse he could get of the mage, though he looked even worse than Hawke.

Fenris had spent the last week haunting the clinic’s doorstep at night, agonizing over what he could say to get his mage back. Now Anders was in front of him, and he couldn’t think of a single word that might help. He knew he couldn’t continue to do nothing, but he felt trapped, as if any move he made would end in disaster.

The group continued into Darktown in tense silence, the oppressive atmosphere matching Fenris’ mood perfectly. He hated being underground, hated feeling like the low ceiling was going to collapse and bury them all in the stinking filth of Kirkwall.

Anders led them to an inauspicious looking trapdoor partially hidden by the muck in the sewers.

He coughed, clearing his throat.

“What I need is in here,” he said, avoiding eye contact with all of them. “I know where it is, I just… I need someone to watch my back.”

“Anders,” Aveline said, planting herself firmly. “You need to tell us what we are doing. I am not going down into a dark tunnel for no reason, friend or not.”

Fenris noticed that the mage’s hands were trembling, nails bitten to the quick.

“She is right, Anders,” he said, as gently as he could manage it. Anders seemed so on edge, Fenris was worried that if they pushed too far, Anders would bolt.

“They’re just alchemy ingredients,” the mage blurted, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Alchemy ingredients for _what_?” Aveline asked, clearly not willing to let this go.

Fenris watched as emotions flickered over the mage’s face, too fast for him to process. Anders cleared his throat again, his expression settling into one of discomfort. He mumbled something unintelligible, gaze once again directed at his feet.

“Anders,” Aveline said with exasperation, her already frayed patience at an end. “Cease your mumbling and just tell us!”

“Justice,” Anders exclaimed, anger tipping his head back as he glared at Aveline. “Justice, okay? I’m trying to separate us.”

Fenris felt a bit like Anders had just dropped a firestorm on him. He forgot to breathe, his heart in his throat. He looked at the mage, at his drawn face and his too-thin body, his eyes filled with anguished strife and knew that Justice was killing him, had been killing him for a long time, slowly and painfully.

“Is that even possible?” Hawke asked.

“I don’t know,” Anders answered. “I think so. I don’t know. I won’t know for sure until I’ve tried.” His eyes darted away from Hawke as if looking at the rogue’s hopeful face were painful.

Fenris was suddenly sure Anders was lying. He was as certain that Anders was lying as he was that he loved this stupid, stubborn, ridiculous mage.

He let out a bitter chuckle as his companions looked at him with surprise.

“Fenris?” Anders said, confusion coloring his tone.

The elf looked at Anders’ beautiful, honey-colored eyes and felt another laugh building in his chest. He couldn’t have chosen someone simple to fall in love with, could he? Fenris was an ex-slave who had suffered deeply at the hands of magic and yet had somehow managed to fall in love with this complicated human mage, deeply damaged and beset by literal demons.

He shook his head at himself. Who was the bigger fool, himself or Anders? He snorted. Perhaps it was a draw.

Fenris knelt to open the trapdoor, ignoring the bemusement he had ignited in his friends.

“Well?” He said, before dropping into the tunnel with a practiced ease. Every time he thought there was no limit to how much further beneath Kirkwall he could go, Anders showed him a darker place.

Aveline thudded in place beside him, armor clanking.

“Maker,” she coughed. “And I thought Darktown smelled bad.”

Hawke dropped quietly into place next to them, in marked contrast to Anders’ fumbling awkwardness as he slid to the murky ground.

“Well, Anders?” Aveline said, turning a suspicious look to the mage. “Lead the way then.”

Anders nodded, wordlessly calling up a mage light and moving forward. In the dim reflection, Fenris could see the doubt and worry in Aveline’s face as she followed. He was not the only one who suspected that Anders was lying.

He sighed and unsheathed his sword from his back. If this was going to end in disaster, he at least wanted to be prepared.

They didn’t have to wait long. Anders had barely set off down the tunnel before they ran into a swarm of lyrium smugglers, who must have been making use of the abandoned tunnel beneath Darktown to ply their illegal trade.

The two groups froze and stared at each other for a long moment, before weapons appeared in the hands of the smugglers and they attacked with a roar.

Fenris felt a barrier snap into place over him as he howled and leapt into the fray, bringing his sword down in a powerful arc that caused the mob to stumble back, briefly stunned.

He lit his tattoos and split right, knowing Aveline would take the left, charging towards an archer who was frantically shooting arrows at Anders. The archer froze just as the elf reached him, hit with a spell from Anders. Fenris brought his sword down, shattering the man with powerful blow before turning back to flank the warriors that Aveline had engaged. Together, the two practiced warriors cut down the smugglers between them, aided with healing spells and the occasional flash of lightning from Anders.

A cry of rage caught his attention, as what appeared to be the leader of the smugglers appeared at the top of the stairs. Suddenly, the man choked, looking down at his chest, which now had two dagger points protruding from it. The smuggler gurgled, then slid to the ground, revealing a blood spattered Hawke.

And just like that, the battle was over, short and brutal.

Hawke wiped his daggers free of blood on the thigh of his armor, and hopped down the stairs to rejoin them.

“Well, that was bracing,” he joked, causing Aveline to roll her eyes as she pulled her sword from one of the unlucky smugglers.

Fenris felt hands on his arm, which was bleeding from a lucky hit by one of the smuggler rogues.

“Let me see,” Anders said softly, healing magic already illuminating his hands.

Fenris turned towards the light instinctively, looking up at the mage’s tired face as he smoothed away the cut.

The elf’s eyes fluttered closed, the familiar feel of Anders’ gentle magic soothing him. It was so different from the feel of Danarius’ magic, which had scraped over Fenris’ skin like a bloodstained knife. He sighed quietly and opened his eyes.

Anders was looking at him, his face open and wistful. His fingers lingered on Fenris’ wrist, seemingly unable to let go.

“Anders,” he murmured, taking a step forward and tilting his head to gaze into the mage’s face. “Will you not trust me with the truth?”

Anders blinked, pain filling the amber of his eyes, before his face hardened and he stepped back.

“I told you the truth already,” he said, his voice monotone.

It hurt to watch Anders shut down and close off, helpless to stop the mage from turning away from him. He swallowed, trying not to show the pain on his face, achingly aware that they were not alone.

Hawke cleared his throat awkwardly.

“So, what exactly should we be looking for, Anders?” he asked, a bit too loudly, clearly trying to dissipate the tension.

Anders ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“It’s called sela petrae,” he said, once again avoiding eye contact with all of them. “It’s a crystal that forms from concentrated manure… and urine.”

“What?” Hawke yelped, not quite drowning out Aveline’s sound of disgust. “We’re seriously tromping through the sewers looking for a crystal made of shit and piss?”

Anders nodded tersely.

Hawke laughed disbelievingly, sharp with an edge of bitterness. 

“What even are our lives?” he said, shaking his head, before clapping Anders on the back. The mage startled, looking at Hawke with bafflement.

“Well, let’s go,” Hawke said. “This shit rock thing isn’t going to find itself, now is it?”

Anders shook his head, a weary smile forming on his face.

“Only you, Hawke,” was all he said before starting off again.

Fenris clenched his fist, glad that the mage was smiling, but resentful that it was Hawke that had coaxed the expression onto Anders’ face and not him. He would never have the easy charisma Hawke had, the ability to say the right thing. He ducked his head and followed them down the stinking tunnel, shoulders hunched and tense.

He felt a shoulder bump into his and he looked over to see Aveline giving him an encouraging nod. After a moment he nodded back, feeling bolstered by Aveline’s steady presence at his side.

In front of them, Anders knelt and was scraping something into his satchel, so Fenris assumed that they had found some of the foul sela petrae after all.

Suddenly his ears twitched as he caught the sound of voices further in the tunnel, his head snapping towards the sound. In a few strides, he caught up to Hawke.

“There is someone up ahead,” he hissed at the rogue. Hawke exhaled, shaking his head ruefully.

“Anders, to the back,” he ordered. “Aveline, up front with me. Let’s see how many plots we can stumble on in a single outing, shall we?"

They obeyed, falling into battle ready position as Hawke pushed forward, following the voices to a cave off of the main tunnel.

Fenris grew even tenser at the distinctive clank of Templar armor. Hawke hesitated but kept going, walking into the cave full of Templars with deceptive nonchalance. Fenris and Aveline drew steel, flanking Hawke.

Fenris let out an angry growl at the sight of Alrik, who was walking towards a cowering girl in mage robes. 

“You know what happens to mage girls who don’t toe the line around here, don’t you?” Alrik purred, the threat in his voice sickly sweet.

Rage filled Fenris as he watched the mage girl beg on her knees, unwelcome memories tugging at him.

“First it was lyrium smugglers, now it’s Templars,” Hawke interrupted, causing the Templars to whirl and draw their swords at his words. “What do you think we’ll find next? Playing the odds, I’d guess blood mages.”

“Hawke,” Alrik snapped. “Why can’t you ever mind your own business?”

Hawke’s smile was all teeth and anger.

“It’s just not in my nature, I guess,” he answered, twirling a dagger ostentatiously along his fingers before pointing it at Alrik. “Now what were you doing to that girl?”

“ **You fiends will never touch a mage again** ,” Justice roared, pushing forward to confront Alrik, blue light flickering as he attacked the Templars head on.

“Fuck,” Hawke hissed, before tossing a miasmic flask into the crowd of Templars and disappearing, leaving confusion behind him.

Fenris sucked in deep breath, sharing a horrified glance with Aveline before they both surged forward, trying to regain control of the mob that was converging on Anders, no, _Justice_.

Aveline let out a vicious battle cry as she bashed a Templar with the hilt of her sword, causing several of them to turn her way, allowing Fenris to slip into the freed up space. He forced the rest back with a wide arc of his sword and giving them all some breathing room.

Justice was a force of nature, offensive spells dropping Templars left and right, rage pouring off him in waves as he kept pushing to the forefront of the battle, despite Fenris’ attempts to shield him.

Alrik stumbled to his feet, and brought his hands together, a smite rippling across the room and causing Justice to fall to his knees, howling with the agony of having his mana forcibly ripped away.

Fenris leapt, trying to reach Justice as Alrik, steadier now, raised his sword to attack. Fenris barrelled into him, knocking the knight off balance enough to block the blow.

“Elf,” Alrik spat, his face twisted with rage, finding his feet and bringing his sword up, centering himself for battle.

Fenris bared his teeth at him, lighting his tattoos to give himself more strength. He was acutely aware of the lack of barriers and healing that Anders usually provided, but there was nothing to do but push forward without it, relying on his own strength.

He reacted to Alrik’s first thrust with lightning speed, using his superior flexibility and Alrik’s clumsy armor to dance around the Templar and score a hit along the man’s side, denting the armor. Alrik wheezed out a pained sound and slashed wildly, trying to hit the elf.

Fenris ducked and phased, sliding his hand right through the Templar insignia on that hateful armor and squeezing, before pulling back, hand clenched around the gory remains of what had been Alrik’s heart.

The Templar’s face was a rictus of horror, as his eyes became unseeing and he slumped to the ground.

Fenris dropped the heart to the ground, turning his back on the broken shell of the Templar and scanning the battlefield. Aveline and Hawke had handily dispatched the rest of the knights, standing in the eye of a storm of fallen Templars, panting.

Justice had regained his strength, pacing the battlefield with agitation.

“ **I will have every last Templar for these abuses** ,” he roared. “ **Every one of them will feel Justice’s burn**.”

“They’re dead, Anders,” Hawke said wearily, wiping blood off his face with a grimace. “We’ve killed them all.”

Justice’s pacing had brought him near the mage girl, who was trembling, terrified, towards the back of the cave.

“Get away from me demon,” the girl cried, tears streaked across her face.

Fenris sucked in a breath and advanced, hoping he could calm Justice as he had before.

“ **I am no demon! Are you one of them, that you would call me such?** ” Justice towered over the girl, a breath from violence. Aveline brought her shield up, bracing herself against the possibility of having to fight Justice.

“Not another step,” Hawke commanded, an authority he rarely wielded in his words. “This is not a Templar, Justice, this is an innocent.”

Fenris stepped forward, placing his hand on Justice’s shoulder.

“Anders, please,” he said, trying to smooth the tension from his voice and hoping beyond hope that Anders was still in there somewhere and could hear him. “Don’t.”

Justice shoved him away, raising his staff to attack the frightened mage when he stumbled, the blue cracks in his skin dissipating until Anders slumped to his knees, his face anguished.

“Maker, no,” he cried, as the mage girl ran off, sobbing. “I almost… Fenris - “

The mage turned to him, revulsion painted across his face.

“You were right,” he choked out. “Maker, you were right all along. I’m a _monster_!”

“Anders,” Fenris breathed, reaching for the mage. “No - ”

Anders recoiled.

“I need - I need to get out of here,” he whimpered, gathering himself up and stumbling towards the exit of the cave.

Fenris stood frozen, watching as the mage ran from him, heart in pieces in his chest. His feet felt like stone.

He took a step, then another.

“Anders,” he whispered, before making to follow the mage.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, grabbing his wrist and halting his progress. “There’s something you need to see.”

“What?” he snapped, pulling his wrist back. Didn’t Hawke see? Anders _needed_ him, he had to get out of here.

“This,” Hawke said, gesturing to handful of blood-soaked papers stamped with the seal of the Chantry. “You’re going to need to see this.”

Fenris felt cold, looking at the papers with dread.

He took a deep breath, and reached for them, scanning them quickly. He read them again, sure he’d read them wrong somehow, that this couldn’t possibly be happening.

He met Hawke’s eyes, which were filled with a resigned dread.

“Go,” the rogue said, nodding towards the tunnel. “We’ll need him. And you.”

Hawke hesitated, before adding, “And Justice. We’re going to need Justice.”

Fenris turned, and he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those of you that have been commenting, there is no way to express how it's helped me keep going.
> 
> Sorry if it was jarring to have Alrik here, I needed that bald douchebag to be killed horribly in Act 3 instead of Act 2. And it was one of the most satisfying things I've ever gotten to write, tbh.
> 
> Thanks to Jack, as always, and Kris, because this chapter would not exist without them.


	20. Breathe

Anders clawed his way out of the sewer, his panic making him clumsy as he shoved past the dregs of Darktown to get to his clinic. He slammed the door, then went straight to the back, kneeling next to his cot to pull out the box filled with his meager possessions from underneath.

He opened the box with shaking hands, dumping everything carelessly onto the dirt floor. His breath was coming so fast he began to choke, and his eyes were so thick with tears he couldn’t focus.

“Get it together,” he whispered viciously.

He covered his face and screamed, his throat raw from his panicked breathing. Justice had retreated, the spirit a disorienting mix of anger and fear and guilt, much like Anders himself.

All he could see when he closed his eyes was the terror-filled expression of that mage girl. She had looked at them like they were her worst nightmare, just moments after she’d been threatened with Tranquility and rape by Templars. He had just wanted to save her, to save any of them. _To save yourself,_ a voice within him whispered.

He had to get _away._

The walls of his clinic were closing in on him. There wasn’t enough light, there wasn’t enough air, there wasn’t enough _anything_. The smell of the sewers was suffocating. He felt like he was drowning.

Anders slid his fingers into his hair and tugged, focusing on the sharp pinpricks of pain rather than the maelstrom of his confused thoughts. He forced himself to inhale, gasping in a few deep breaths.

The paltry spread of his most prized possessions mocked him from where they were scattered on the earthen floor of his clinic.

He reached out a trembling hand, fingers brushing over what was left of the pillow his mother had shoved into his hands as the Templars had dragged him away from the farm, a scrawny adolescent, crying out for forgiveness and begging to stay.

Next to the pillow lay a vial, stuffed full of small notes. Anders picked it up and brought it to his heart, clutching it to him as he remembered the notes Karl used to write for him, filled with furtive declarations of love.

He shook the flask weakly, hearing the clinking of a small gold earring hitting the glass. Tears streamed down his cheeks, the small sound tearing him open.

He set the flask back with effort, and sat looking at a worn copy of Forbidden Magic. The book was stupid, so fucking stupid. He had never deserved to be rescued, much less by a handsome and heroic warrior.

Anders laughed bitterly, scrubbing the tears from his face brutally before standing. He gave himself one last look at the belongings strewn at his feet then turned away. He would leave everything behind, go someplace where he couldn’t hurt anyone else. He was stuffing potions into a small rucksack when the door crashed open.

Fenris was across the room in a heartbeat.

“Anders,” Fenris said, voice filled with panic. “What are you doing?”

Anders swallowed the harsh taste in his mouth and turned his back on Fenris to grab his staff. If he removed some of the enchantments and took off the orb at the top, he could probably pass it off as a walking stick of some kind. Maybe a stave.

He turned and made an attempt to look Fenris in the eyes, but couldn’t. His gaze settled on the tattoos that traced the elf’s throat.

“I’m leaving,” he said, wincing at the crack in his voice. “I can’t stay here.”

He went to move around Fenris to the door, but was stopped by Fenris’ firm hands on his shoulders.

“Anders,” Fenris said. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” Anders responded, jaw clenched. “Please, just… Can’t you just let me go?”

The elf’s hands softened on his shoulders, then one of them dipped to his waist, while the other drifted upwards. Fenris’ fingers traced along Anders’ chin and gently tipped his bowed head up a fraction.

“Please,” Fenris said softly, his breath a whisper across Anders’ skin. “Look at me.”

Anders closed his eyes. If he were a better, stronger person, he would walk away right now, let Fenris be free of him.

Trembling, he opened his eyes and finally met Fenris’ gaze. The elf looked at him like he was something precious instead of what he was, which was filthy. Tarnished. Fenris was so much better than he was, why weren’t his eyes filled with condemnation and disgust?

Fenris’ regard felt too raw, too intimate. Anders couldn’t take it, eyes closing to hide him in blissful darkness.

Where was the warrior who had spat cruel words at him? Now that Anders needed him, needed his anger to help him walk away, he was nowhere to be seen, leaving behind this man whose hands on him felt like forgiveness.

“I’m a monster,” he finally choked out. How long had Anders been fooling himself into thinking he was something other than an abomination? All he had ever wanted was to be free and now he was more trapped than he had ever been. He kept trying to run but he could never outrun the bars of the prison he’d made of his very body, sinew and skin and bone tethering himself to the agony of existence.

“No, Anders,” Fenris said, voice soft, his hand settling in the small of Anders’ back. He began pulling the mage closer to him, carefully, as if Anders was a skittish deer that could bolt at any moment.

Anders swallowed, his fingers aching around where they were clutching his staff, his pitiful bag of supplies. He felt like he was slowly being pressed into the earth, unable to stand upright under the weight of his mistakes.

He let go, let everything in his hands drop to the ground with a clatter.

He took a small step towards Fenris, then another, until he was crumpling into the elf, who wrapped his strong arms around him and held tight as they sunk to the floor together.

Huge, wracking, ugly sobs tore themselves out of his throat. Anders pressed his face into Fenris’ shoulder, the rough leather scratching his swollen cheeks.

Fenris held Anders as he cried, stroking his back and murmuring something soothing sounding in Arcanum.

Anders lost track of time, minutes blurring together until he realized the tears had stopped. He was just sitting quietly, wrapped in Fenris’ embrace. He felt empty, scoured clean. Fenris’ hands were stroking lightly down his back, grounding him.

He shifted, pulling back and looking at Fenris. The elf looked at him calmly, as if he hadn’t just watched Anders break down spectacularly. He knew he should probably feel embarrassed but he couldn’t summon the energy.

Fenris brought one hand up to Anders’ cheek and stroked his thumb across the mage’s cheekbone, collecting the last of his tears and wiping them away. Anders relaxed into the elf’s palm, eyes fluttering closed as Fenris leaned forward to breathe kisses over his face.

“You scared me,” Fenris said quietly. “I thought I had lost you.”

“You almost did,” Anders replied hoarsely. He had been so close to the edge of something terrible, something that he would not have come back from. He wondered how long it would be before he could sleep without dreaming of fire.

Justice was somewhere tucked away deep inside, where Anders could barely feel him, but he still remembered the intense feelings of terror and confusion that the spirit had been projecting. He hadn’t been the only one shaken by their experience.

Anders knew they had to separate. Justice had retreated for now, but how long would it be before they pushed each other towards another dangerous idea? They had wanted something beautiful, they had wanted justice, and they had let their pain push them into contemplating the unthinkable.

Anders was already exhausted. The thought of trekking across Thedas to find some wild tribes of Avvar who may or may not have a ritual that could save them from each other seemed insurmountable, but he couldn’t see another way forward. Well. Maybe one way.

The mage’s circular thoughts were interrupted by Fenris clearing his throat and moving them to a more upright position. 

“Anders,” the elf began, sounding uneasy. “There is something I must tell you.”

Anders sighed. He forced his eyes open and looked at Fenris, waiting.

“Hawke found letters on Alrik’s body,” Fenris said. “Papers of some kind, from Meredith, and...”

At this the elf hesitated, seemingly trying to find the right words.

“Just tell me, Fenris,” Anders said, Fenris’ reluctance to speak filling him with anxiety.

Fenris nodded, clenching his jaw.

“Between Meredith and the Divine,” he finished. “Anders, they are going to annul the Circle.”

Anders could barely feel his body. All he could feel was his heart, hammering wildly in his rib cage.

“They can’t do that,” he said blankly. “There are… there are children. Innocent mages. They can’t do that.”

“They got permission from the Divine, Anders,” Fenris said quietly. “I think they can do whatever they want.”

Anders ripped himself away from Fenris and started pacing.

“Well, we can’t let them,” he said, hysteria tinging his voice as his breathing grew ragged.

“Breathe, Anders,” Fenris said, standing and reaching out a hand to him.

“Don’t tell me to breathe!” Anders snapped. How was he going to stop this? Thoughts flew through his head, half imagined ideas of rescue racing through his mind.

“Anders!” Fenris’ shout pierced through his wild planning. He looked down at Fenris, realizing the elf had shook him.

“We are not going to let this happen,” Fenris said, enunciating each word clearly and squeezing the mage’s shoulders for emphasis. “Hawke is already going to get the others. We will protect them, Anders, but I need you to take a deep breath and calm down. Panicking will not save the mages.”

Anders nodded, and tried to suck air into his lungs. He watched Fenris, concentrating on the green of his eyes and the steadiness of his breathing.  He slowly got himself under control. Fenris was right. It would take careful preparation if their small group of friends had a chance against the might of the Chantry, against Meredith and the entirety of the cursed Templar order. He had to be clear-eyed and ruthless. The lives of countless mages depended on them.

He had lost years of his life in this city. He had lost his very self as he failed, again and again to make any difference against the injustices committed by the Chantry. He wouldn’t fail now. He couldn’t.

He glanced at Fenris, who answered him with a small nod. They would do this together.

Anders took a deep breath, calming his quivering muscles as best he could. He scooped his gear up from where it had scattered at his feet. He’d better bring a stock of lyrium potions as well as his usual healing potions. They would likely be fighting Templars who would be smiting he and Merrill out of their mana regularly.

He slung his staff onto his back, tucked the last of the potions onto his belt, and looked around to see if he had forgotten anything. His eyes fell on Fenris, who had gathered up his discarded possessions and was holding them out to him.

Anders drew in a sharp breath at the sight of Fenris’ callused swordsman’s hands cradling his mother’s pillow. He reached for it and hugged it to his chest as Fenris held up the copy of Forbidden Magic, one sardonic eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Shut up, I kind of like it!” Anders said, blush dawning on his cheeks at Fenris’ dry chuckle.

“Me too, mage,” Fenris said, smirking. “Let’s never tell Varric, shall we?”

“Deal,” Anders said, taking the book and the vial from Fenris and turning to the box next to his cot to tuck them away safely.

“Well, um,” Anders said, “You ready to go do battle with the most powerful institution in Thedas?”

Fenris ducked his head, a small smile tugging at his lips, before reaching out to tuck a stray lock behind Anders’ ear.

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, your patience with my incredibly slow writing is much appreciated. I will reiterate again that I will never give up on this fic, the only thing that will keep me from finishing will be literal death. I'm still here, lurking around the other Fenders fic being written so don't give up on me please! Big thanks to Cavatica for the editing and hand holding!


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